


Third Wheel's the Charm

by Larathia



Series: Castles In The Sky [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Don't worry, Ensemble Cast, Multi, SHEITH - Freeform, goin back to earth baby, let's see if I can make something neat, no idiot balls here, or at least very few, pretty sure sanda got bunged in a dungeon in the last fic, secondary character death, sort of an alternate S7/S8
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2020-09-30 06:17:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 129,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20442095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larathia/pseuds/Larathia
Summary: Do Not Start With This Fic.Go back to the first one in the series if you're curious, otherwise the character development and canon changes will give you a headache. The Sheith is steady and will last throughout the fic; any other relationships I'm not swearing to and will adjust the tags if it turns out they change.The paladins have rescued Shiro, healed the clone Ryou, visited Oriande, rescued the alteans of the abyssal colony, taken a two year vacation in a week or so, and (possibly entirely accidentally) kept Lotor from losing his marbles. Haggar's been barred from Oriande and the Fire of Purification has been driven off. Gosh. Looks like a good time to go back to Earth, doesn't it? Say hi to the folks?It's really just that the paladins aren't theonlyones to have that idea....





	1. Look Ma, No Sorcery

All the farewells were written, all the plans transmitted.

Ryou knew he had only days left at most. Clone shutdown was not subtle, as it turned out. He was getting tired more and more quickly, strength leaving his body by the hour it seemed at times. Sometimes he thought he could feel his muscles unravelling.

He’d retired from official duty last week. Earth’s defense could not be left in the hands of someone who couldn’t get around without a walker. (Well. It _could_, really, but...there was a question of morale, and Ryou didn’t think it was worth pushing it under the circumstances.) Iverson and Sam and Adam had all the plans, all the passcodes. Everything Ryou could think of that might serve in Earth’s defense.

Adam seemed to understand that being trapped in a rapidly weakening body was not Ryou’s idea of a good death, nor was dying in his bed. They didn’t discuss it, not exactly, but Adam packed the basics for a weekend camping trip and put Black in his little walking vest and harness.

“You could let him go,” Ryou noted. “Cats are a hunting species.”

“Yes,” Adam agreed. “But _this_ cat loves you, and turning it away into the woods would just get it eaten by a wolf or stepped on by a bear. It doesn’t know the wilds. Now, if you want me to turn it loose to hunt mice around HQ, I can work something out.”

“Should we take Black along then?” asked Ryou. “If the wilderness is so dangerous?”

Adam gave Ryou a level look. “You’ve said your farewells to the paladins in letters they may not see for years,” he said. “And your farewells to the Garrison last week. But Black is a _cat_, Ryou. And all he’s going to know is you’re going to be gone. Don’t pretend to me that you don’t care that your cat is going to be upset.”

“Better a cat than a person,” said Ryou with a sigh. He scooped Black up, vest and leash and all, onto his lap, and got a headbutt to the chest for it. The purr was audible at distance. “I probably shouldn’t have accepted him,” he admitted.

“Don’t give me that,” said Adam brusquely, finishing the packing. “It was a cat or you deciding the best way to die would be to be a complete ass at _everyone_ in the mistaken belief that if they were pissed at you they wouldn’t miss you.”

“...Point,” said Ryou dryly, giving the cat affectionate scritches. “But..I admit, I’m surprised you’ve stayed. This can’t be easy.”

“Because you’ve never in your life done something that was difficult,” said Adam, the tone particularly deceptively mild. “Ryou...this is actually an event I’d ..._prepared_ myself for, before Shiro left for Kerberos. All this.”

Ryou’s expression twisted. “Borrowing Shiro’s _death_, am I? And here I was hoping for originality.”

“Knock it off,” said Adam firmly. “I loved him. Believe me when I tell you I am _not_ in love with _you_. I’m just not that masochistic, Ryou. But I don’t need to be in _love_ with you to have respect for you, or to think of you as a friend. And because of that, I don’t regard it as a hardship to let you go the way you’d rather go. You do have _some_ things in common with Shiro.”

He gestured, and let Ryou wheel himself out to the lot. The wheelchair wasn’t _strictly_ a necessity, in that Ryou’s legs still worked and he could stand and walk if he needed to. But the wheelchair did mean he didn’t burn the rapidly diminishing energy reserves he had on simple locomotion, and that meant less time sleeping.

There was a skimmer outside, with the goods for the trip packed. “You can pilot, or I can,” said Adam. “This one has a max elevation of a thousand feet, unburdened. Which it isn’t, but. We can probably take it to a decent vista if you find one.”

Ryou understood. Adam was helping him choose his last days. No offices, no uniforms, no walls. The camping gear was more for _Adam_ than for Ryou.

He really had come to care about this backward little space marble.

“...Do you know where the Blue Lion was found?” asked Ryou thoughtfully.

“Not much of a view,” mused Adam. “We did track the trajectory back to a broad location though. Canyons. I think we can find it.”

“I’d like to see it,” said Ryou.

~*~

Keith didn’t so much wake up as surface from a deep, soft, comfortable blackness at about the speed of an oxygen bubble through warm tar.

From there, things more or less went downhill, because Keith genuinely had no idea how Blip A (Keith) had gotten onto Board B (bed).

The problem with ‘This is another dream’ was that it required a level of awareness to say ‘this is not reality’. Keith couldn’t say that. Macidus had broken that bit in him that told him he was awake, or dreaming. There had been blackness, yes, but that didn’t mean anything.

The last thing he remembered was …

...what?

It hadn’t been pleasant. Keith remembered that much. He’d been in a pitched battle...yes, that felt right. The Druids had cornered the last of the Blades and Keith had been one of the last two or three still fighting. So many dead. All his Blade friends had fallen, and his mother...

And now he was….in bed. A bed, anyway. With Shiro. He didn’t need to move to know that; he knew Shiro’s scent, feel, weight, _aura_. Another reality skip? Shiro was dead. Keith had betrayed him, and the alteans, and the Druids had dismembered Shiro joint by joint. Keith remembered _that_ quite clearly. Or...someone’s Shiro, anyway. The skips had started before that room, hadn’t they?

And yet. Here he was, in bed, with a very definitely not dismembered Shiro.

If it _was_ another reality skip it was a good one. He’d lost _his_ Shiro but maybe he could protect this one. Shiro stirred, noticed Keith was awake, and half-rolled to lie across Keith’s chest, so he could study Keith’s face. “Hey there,” he said gently. “How’re you feeling?”

“Okay,” said Keith truthfully. He reached out to touch Shiro’s human shoulder, arm. Whole, unscarred. Part of him wanted to block out the memory of the cuts, the blood. Part of him was sure doing that would be disloyal. But this Shiro didn’t know that. “You look good.”

“So do you,” Shiro smiled, albeit a bit tentatively. “The alchemists pulled some pretty bad stuff out of you. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“A battle,” said Keith. This was definitely not the same reality. Shiro would never be so relaxed if all the Blades had been killed.

It wasn’t what Shiro had been hoping to hear, apparently. He looked concerned, fingers spreading to lightly caress Keith’s cheek, jaw. “….I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” he admitted. “Considering it took years for me to remember what happened to _me_. It’ll come back when it’s ready to.”

So there’d been a battle here, too, then. Of course. “What happened?” Keith asked.

“You disappeared from Red,” said Shiro. “We thought you were still in the Lion, so we chased it, but when we finally caught up to it, you weren’t there. That was when we found out the Druids had you. They were heading to Oriande. We got you out, and then Allura and the alchemists pulled Haggar’s magic out of you. You’ve been out for a while.”

Keith turned this data around in his mind a bit, but it didn’t quite fit anything he remembered. Well, except the ‘fighting in Red’ part. He remembered that. But everything after that was...reality jumping. Maybe he was near his native reality though. Since Haggar had tortured _his_ Shiro about Oriande. Maybe that was why _this_ Shiro felt so much like _his_ Shiro.

And Keith was worrying him. “It’s good to be back,” he said gently. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t this man’s fault.

Shiro smiled, and it crinkled the edges of his eyes. “It’s good to have you back,” he replied.

~*~

“Of what possible use is this?” growled Sendak.

“How far is Lieutenant Hepta from Earth?” Haggar replied.

“He has estimated four or five phoebs at most,” Sendak answered, scowling. “And again, what _possible _-”

“This will allow you to join him in moments,” Haggar rasped. “And complete the journey in moments more.”

Sendak’s fangs bared. “If you could do such a thing then _why_ has he been out there for decaphoebs?” he snapped. “His ships could have turned the tide at Central Command!”

“Do not lie to me,” growled Haggar. “Do not deceive yourself. Lotor was ready for you. A few dozen more ships would not have changed the outcome. But you may have your vengeance, and build an Empire of your own, where he cannot reach you before you have grown strong.”

A druid floated forward and gave Sendak a tablet of requirements. “Bring me the scaultrite,” Haggar commanded.

~*~

Lotor and the generals listened.

For several vargas that was _all_ they did, even Ezor. Kolivan was an old galra, adult even when Lotor had been a child. He remembered _many_ things even Lotor had never known. He knew about the conquest of Palle, of Teif, of Bhiton, and how those worlds had become part of the Empire, and grown into the strongholds they now were. He knew about the history of the gladiatorial ring and in exactly what ways Zarkon had twisted it.

He had brought documents, evidence, from the Blade headquarters. The Blades had been the academics, scholars and advisors of the Empire, before Zarkon. Driven into hiding, watching the history of their people being destroyed, Marmora had created a hidden base and then another and another, that knowledge would be preserved, gathered, and used to bring down what she saw as a mockery of galra culture.

Marmora herself had been too vocal, though. Kolivan had been one of her followers, along with Krolia and Antok, and had done his best down the centuries to see her vision kept alive.

“You cannot bring back the empire that was, in your grandfather’s reign,” Kolivan repeated. “We are not who we were, nor is our Empire. But neither are you bound to continue the empire as your father has made it be. If you will have us, the Blade of Marmora will protect you, advise you, and serve you.”

Ezor reached out and poked Kolivan’s stoic cheek with a finger. “He’s so _lifelike_,” she mused.

“That would be because he is alive, Ezor,” Acxa sighed. “Try to behave.” She looked to Lotor, who seemed very thoughtful. “Your majesty?”

Lotor was studying Kolivan. “Why did you never approach me before?”

“And increase the danger to your life?” asked Kolivan. “You were the only heir. The only chance. But we are not druids, your majesty. You had to choose for yourself whether you wished to continue your father’s work. In choosing not to we saw an opportunity to fulfill Marmora’s mission.”

“And you have already taught all this to the paladins?” asked Lotor.

“No, your majesty,” said Kolivan. “The paladins are not galra. And I have left Keith’s education to his mother.” He paused. “It was...proper.”

Lotor’s instinct was to mistrust anyone who put themselves forward as an advisor, with good reason. But Kolivan didn’t really _advise_, per se. If asked a question, he gave an answer, and didn’t seem concerned with what Lotor chose to do with it. Yet, he _had_ to be making a choice somewhere, or why rebel against Zarkon at all? “What drove you to join Marmora?” he asked.

“The druids,” said Kolivan flatly. “After the destruction of Altea, Zarkon declared Haggar to be his ‘high priestess’, though he never did clarify what she was a priestess _of_ and those who asked usually disappeared. Haggar gathered ...beings, to her. Some were able to trace those beings to disappearances among the Seekers. Haggar was doing something to the Seekers she captured, changing them into what you would recognize as druids. I was one of those she captured.” He gestured to his golden eyes. “I was unusually fortunate. I was rescued by Marmora and...cleansed.”

Now Kolivan had the attention of everyone. “...Cleansed,” Lotor echoed. “Of the witch’s control, I take it.”

“That is the final step,” said Kolivan. “Which I did not reach. It requires many quintants of preparation, breaking the mind of the being down to a point where it will accept anything. They are infused with a tainted quintessence and then...a dark power. A druid is not born, your majesty, a druid is made.”

“What’s a _seeker_?” asked Ezor. “Are there any?”

Kolivan turned his head slightly, so that Ezor would know he was regarding her. “Altean mystics are called alchemists,” he said. “And they have great powers of quintessence manipulation. It is said they can even bring back the dead if they choose. But Daibazaal was once in the same solar system as Altea, and the galra also have the capability to be born mystic. We are not alchemists. We are seekers, so named because that is the direction of our skill.”

Lotor was _very_ attentive now. “Indeed?” he asked. “Do elaborate.”

“We can sense the nature of the world around us,” said Kolivan. “Such as, your majesty, the darkness you bind within you. The nature of lives and deaths near us. We can track quintessence signatures across distances. Some of us have been known to dream of time yet to come.” He studied Lotor. “I am a seeker. I am likely one of the last. Haggar has hunted seekers for millennia for her druids, even as Zarkon hunted alchemists to destroy them. Seekers who joined Marmora created the first of our Blades, by which we are known, and with which we destroy the druids that would destroy us and the last of the empire-that-was.”

Lotor’s fingertip tap tapped on the arm of his throne. “Druids do not evince such abilities,” he noted.

“When Haggar is through with them, they have other powers,” said Kolivan. “Drawn from the darkness within them that consumes them.”

“And this...darkness, you say is within me,” said Lotor levelly. “Does it give you pause?”

“Do my eyes give _you_ pause, your majesty?” asked Kolivan.

“You are hardly the only one with such eyes in this facility,” Lotor pointed out.

“True,” Kolivan rumbled. He gave the question consideration. “Yes, your majesty. It gives me pause. But it is not quite the same darkness that is in the druids. It is natural to you. Part of you. You have a greater capability for controlling what is innate to you. And you have never to anyone’s knowledge used it as a source of power.”

Lotor blinked. “That is an option?”

“Possibly,” Kolivan conceded. “But it grows when it is used. It would consume you, as it consumed your father.”

“You seem quite certain of that,” said Lotor mildly.

“You exist in natural balance, your majesty,” said Kolivan. “Light and dark. Mystic and druid. Your fate is yours to choose, but the balance, once tipped, would be quite difficult to return to the level.” He paused. “You have been advised not to enter the quintessence field. That would be why.”

“I see,” Lotor mused. “We shall have to have many more discussions, honored Blade. But the paladins are returning with your compatriot. I will trust you to tell me if Haggar’s hooks remain in him.”

Kolivan said, stoically, “Of course, your majesty.”

~*~

“What do you mean, _gone_,” growled Olia.

“I mean _gone_,” said Matt helplessly, gesturing at a screen. “I mean all reports say Sendak _and_ his army have just..._gone_.”

Romelle grabbed Matt by the shoulder, so she could pull him down to look past him. “Does that mean we’ve won?”

“_Ow_?” said Matt pointedly, disentangling himself from the altean. “And no, not exactly. Anyone Sendak left in charge of a planet or station is still there. But, you know, the _fleet_ – that’s nowhere to be found.”

Olia’s muzzle crinkled and she turned to Elcris. “Can they do that? Disappear? I mean, and still be there somehow?”

“Sendak has the support of the druids,” said Elcris solemnly. “There was a recent action against the druid ships. It may be she is concealing the ships for now.”

“There was?” asked Matt, blinking. “Did we win?”

Elcris _sort_ of smiled. She’d learned not to show her teeth unless she wanted to upset everyone, so it was a bit tight-lipped, but it qualified as a smile. “It would appear so,” she said. “The witch does not hide when she is victorious.”

Olia looked at her little crew. They were tired, really. Except for Romelle, who seemed to have some kind of direct line to the energy drink of the universe. Battles with the Fire of Purification had taken out so many coalition ships. Olia had honestly expected to be among them, but she could concede – privately, to herself – that humans had a knack for bringing diverse species together. She would _never_ have thought a ship with a galra and an altean on it would survive a war, but here they were.

Of course, the ship was battered to hell. “Any objections to a stay on Olkarion?” she asked gruffly. “Get patched up, restock?”

Matt, as informal second in command, took stock. Both Elcris and Romelle looked hopeful. “Think we’re all in favor, captain,” he said. “We can catch up on the news while we’re there.”

“Set a course,” said Olia, nodding. Romelle treated Matt like a climbing toy again as she watched him enter coordinates and plot a course. She still didn’t have the hang of most of the systems – except the guns and shields – but Olia had to concede she _really_ was keen to learn.

~*~

There was a table in the garrison commissary, that was informally known as the Admiral’s Table. It was where Ryou had preferred to sit (when the weather was bad enough that eating outside wasn’t an option) and only his friends had the go-ahead to sit there with him. After his retirement it was still pretty much the Admiral’s Table, since said friends were managing the entirety of Earth’s defense and really the only people with clearance to have an actual conversation were the other people at the table. It had some distance between it and other tables, and a nice window view of the bustle of the garrison.

For the past few weeks it had just been Sam Holt and Iverson, though. Ryou was in retirement, and Adam was on leave to...well. Sit death watch, if anyone was being honest, but no one said that out loud. Sam had survived a lot more death of late than Iverson, and chatted away pleasantly about the scientific projects underway. Iverson, who thought of Adam and Ryou as friends and didn’t like that Ryou was basically dying of a dead battery, sat listening and scowling into his coffee.

And then Adam, looking very tanned but also very tired, set his tray down at the table and sank into a seat. “Afternoon, officers.”

“So,” said Iverson, apparently to his coffee, “It’s done, then. When?”

“Four days ago,” said Adam quietly. “We explored the canyons looking for the Blue Lion’s cave, and when we found it he was fascinated. I’ve got a notebook for you,” and here he passed a very well-used notebook to Sam, “of his notes on the drawings and carvings we found there. I’ve got a video record as well.” Adam picked at his salad with a fork. “...He decided that was where he wanted to stay. So we did. He just sort of...” he made an ‘off’ gesture with one hand. “Not digital though. More like a lamp that runs out of oil. Dimmer and dimmer and...dark.”

Sam _almost_ stopped eating lunch to go through the notebook, but a _would you mind_ glare from Iverson reminded him of basic manners. “So...what are the arrangements?”

Adam took a deep breath. “His body’s been cremated,” he said flatly. “I brought the means along. His ashes are on the floor of the cave now, as he asked. His _arm_ is in an unmarked case in your office, Sam, you’re going to have to forgive me for not bringing to lunch with me.”

Iverson caught the bitterness there; Sam didn’t. “Any other instructions, news?” asked Iverson.

“Not really, no,” sighed Adam. “I’ve got the cat, who is not a happy cat _at all_ right now. But as I’m not all that happy either, we’ll probably be fine. All the final statements are transmitted or stored. How’s the work going?”

“Steady pace,” said Iverson. “The MFE pilots are improving daily. Might actually do some damage with them when the time comes. A lot of the traditional air force – anything outdated – has been scrapped so we can use the materials in the defenses. The European garrison reports a lot of the old tunnel bunkers from the world wars are successfully rebuilt and reinforced, and new tunnels are getting finished by the week. Evacuation plans will have noncombatants hiding under the Alps within hours of a galra ship being sighted. African garrison’s having a harder time. I’ve signed off on reinforcement personnel this week to help them get their particle barrier network up to par.”

He waited for Sam to chip in, but when he glanced over, he found Sam Holt already going through Ryou’s notes on the Blue Lion’s cave. “Holt!” he growled. “Pay attention. You can read later.”

Sam guiltily put the notebook down. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s really fascinating, especially when you’ve seen the Lions up close.” He coughed, self conscious. “We need to bring Colleen onto this, by the way.”

Adam and Iverson both looked at Sam. “Aside from being your wife,” said Iverson, _“why_?”

Sam blinked and gestured to Adam. “That’s not a disqualifying point,” he said. “Adam became Ryou’s adjutant on the basis of an association with Shiro, after all. But to answer you – we’ve covered as much as we can in terms of defense, and the underground bunkers will probably be lifesavers. But we do need to consider that we’re going to need to find food and water for all those refugees _in_ said bunkers. Colleen is an expert. She needs to be in on this work.”

“Offense and defense,” Adam nodded solemnly. “Agreed.” He looked to Iverson. “It’s the same division _we’ve _had with regard to garrison training,” he pointed out.

“If she can keep you acting like a civilized human being,” grumbled Iverson at Sam, “then she’s got my vote. She’s got the clearance already. Saves hassle.” To Adam, he said, “It won’t fly right now. The galra haven’t come yet, and there’s still a lot of people that think we’ve made the whole thing up to gain power. But ...when this is over, we’ll see to it Ryou’s got his place in the statue line. He won’t be forgotten.”

Adam sipped at his drink. “I think he’d appreciate that.”

~*~

Keith was greeted with an almost joyous relief when he emerged from quarters. He seemed to take it well, too – surprisingly well, for Keith. He put up with Hunk bearhugging him and Pidge poking at him and Lance snarking about getting himself captured and making everyone worry. He ate like he hadn’t seen food in a week, which was probably exactly the case, and while he ate he endured with patience the tests the altean alchemists and the Blades put him through. When being cut with a Blade didn’t cause any pyrotechnics (or instant death), and the alchemists couldn’t sense any darkness (though none of them were quite _happy_, even so) Keith was declared ‘clean’ and the castleship set course back for Central Command.

Allura, though, cornered Shiro while Keith was busy eating. “Did he seem all right to you?” she asked.

Shiro shrugged. “He doesn’t seem to remember anything since the battle,” he said. “He’s not that good a liar, Allura, and I know his tells. He’s lost a week or more of time in that tank, of course he’s going to be a little out of it.”

Allura’s lips thinned. “Haggar doesn’t have any spells on him,” she conceded. “But I’ve talked with Tavo and Luca and we agree there’s _something_ not right. Missing, possibly.”

Now she had Shiro’s full attention. “Like what?”

Allura sighed. “We can’t decide,” she admitted. “It’s not as if any of us have much experience, Shiro, certainly not with something like this. I’m sorry. I just...I felt you should know. If _anyone_ can figure it out, it is likely to be you. You are closest to him.”

“Yes,” said Shiro quietly. “About that...”

“If you are about to apologize for Lance needing to ...tazer you and put you in a pod,” said Allura mildly, “Please do not. We knew Keith loved you. If anything it is reassuring to find you love him just as much. And it isn’t as if either of you are alone. It seems to be quite a human trait, in the end. Pidge is much the same where her family is concerned. I have no doubt that Lance and Hunk would be just as upset or unreasonable if their loved ones were captured by Haggar.”

“I’m supposed to set the example,” said Shiro quietly. “For the paladins, as you are for the alteans, and the coalition.”

Allura smiled a little sadly at him. “Shiro, an example made out of love could never be a bad one. Even if we _do_ have much of the lower levels filled with captive galra just at the moment.”

Shiro found he did not agree, not really. He understood Allura was trying to be reassuring, but he remembered clearly snapping the neck of the captain at his mercy. Lance had been right; paladins _did not_ do things like that. Yet Shiro had.

He saw Lance watching him a bit warily and decided to deal with that one head on. “Excuse me, please, princess,” he said, and left Allura to go corner Lance.

Lance, for his part, seemed very aware that Shiro was still bigger and broader than he was. “Uh. Hi. Feeling better? I hope?”

Shiro held out his hand. “I wanted to say thank you,” he said. “And ...I’m proud of you.”

Lance stared. At Shiro, at the offered hand. “Uh. Okay? So...you’re good with the whole...”

“You did as you had to do,” said Shiro. “I was out of line. I’m glad you recognized that. And I’m glad you stopped it getting worse. And I’m proud of your courage to do so. It ...probably wasn’t easy for you. Or Hunk.”

Lance visibly sagged with relief. “No,” he agreed. “We – look, if it had been Keith with us, rescuing _you_...we know by now he’s not at home to Mister Logic when you’re in trouble and we’d have been watching for it, you know? It never occurred to us you’d be the same way.”

“It never occurred to me, either,” Shiro admitted. “Is it safe to say you’d be agreeable to this being an all-points thing? Would you trust yourself, if the galra had your family?”

Lance winced. “Okay,” he said quietly. “That’s a fair question. I don’t know, honestly. I mean...if they got their hands on Rachel, or Nadia, or little Sylvio...” he winced, thinking about it. “You’re right. We’re none of us good at being paladins when they push our buttons. And we _know_ Pidge is the same when it comes to _her_ family. Yeah. We should...probably just say this is a Rule, going forward.” At last, he accepted Shiro’s hand. “Agreed, Shiro. No hard feelings...in advance, in my case. You do what you have to, same as I did.” He paused. Frowned. “...That’s where they’re going, isn’t it,” he said. “We got a communication from the coalition fleet a few vargas ago. The Fire of Purification’s _vanished_. Like, there’s still manned garrisons and outposts on their occupied worlds, but all the mobile units have ...well, gone mobile. Somewhere. They’re going to _Earth_, aren’t they.”

Shiro blinked. “We’d best check,” he agreed. “Daily communication with Earth. We can get there in doboshes if we need to, but we’ll probably want to check with the alteans to see if they want to come with us.”

“Check with _everybody,” _Lance corrected. “By now we’ve probably got a lot of people that’d love to visit Earth just because of _us_. We could bring in a lot of help.”

“Good thought,” Shiro conceded. “Where’s Hunk?”

“Making your boyfriend fat,” said Lance dryly. “Who knew sleeping for a week gave you such an appetite.” He gestured to the wall where Hunk had built his professional-grade food prep area. Hunk was there, making snacks for everyone else and actual meals for Keith.

~*~

The relatively – compared to just a movement or two ago – few ships remaining to Sendak were busy with the work.

First had been collecting scaultrite. That had required several squads, and there had been multiple casualties.

Now they were building the teludavs. The region of space to which they were headed was very different. There could be no reliance on known phenomena, which meant redundancy. They had only one being able to use a teludav – Haggar – but if they also had only one _ship_ with a teludav, it would be too easy for their enemies to strand them far from any kind of escape or reinforcement.

Sendak wasn’t having that. _Every_ cruiser would have one of these teludavs. Then all they had to do was keep Haggar alive, which was a comparatively much simpler issue to handle.

In theory, Sendak’s remaining forces were more than enough to take on even a heavily defended world like Olkarion – taking Earth, or even destroying it, should be laughably easy once there. But Voltron was all but guaranteed to come chasing after them. It would be best to have fall back positions.

Sendak didn’t just want to beat Voltron. He wanted to _hurt_ Voltron. He wanted the paladins to cry out in fear and pain and _anguish_. He wanted their victory to come at so high a cost they dropped their weapons and swore never to act against the galra again. Actually defeating Voltron was an unlikely event but would be a welcome bonus.

~*~

Blades waited to greet the castleship as it returned, this time. Uniformed Blades, each with their hand on their weapon.

Allura looked down at them with a little sigh. “He wastes no time,” she said. “But in this case I suppose it _is_ justified.”

Shiro slanted a look at her. “You don’t agree he should double check?”

Allura looked...wry. She’d had a lot of thinking to do, lately. “My relationship with Keith is complicated,” she admitted. “I never seem to know where I stand, or where I want to stand.” She gestured to the bay floor outside. “Well. Sooner begun, sooner ended.”

As they headed for the hatch, Keith came walking in his mother’s wake. Krolia had seen the Blades too, which was probably why she was in uniform herself. She seemed to regard it as insulting to think she wouldn’t verify her own son was all right. The other paladins followed as the group caught up, along with the five Blades Kolivan had sent to aid in the rescue.

Shiro and Keith led the way down the ramp, side by side. Keith wordlessly held out a bare hand – no glove – to the Blades waiting as he approached.

One of them took out his luxite dagger, and cut Keith’s palm. No light. No pain – well, beyond that expected of cutting someone’s palm. The group parted, letting the paladins and everyone else disembark as they chose.

Lotor, Kolivan, and the generals emerged from a doorway, walking toward them. “I apologize for the extra measures,” said Lotor solemnly as he neared. “You would of course have tested. I am quite grateful the Blades have chosen to join me. I am relieved to find there _is_ a way to test for Haggar’s influence.”

“It’s fine,” said Keith quietly, accepting a cloth to bind up his hand. “We’ve kind of moved on to the next problem, anyway.”

Lotor raised an eyebrow, and studied Keith and Shiro. “Have you now,” he said. “And which problem would that be?”

“That Sendak has apparently disappeared along with the bulk of his forces,” said Allura. “They are concerned for their homeworld.”

Lotor nodded slowly. “A valid concern,” he conceded. “With the major conflicts concluded, however, I must meet with the Coalition leadership to determine how best to deal with those worlds he has left in the charge of his underlings, and their fortifications.”

Allura briefly smiled; a rueful, ‘back to work’ smile rather than any kind of genuine happiness. “I will begin discussions at once, emperor. I will inform you when an answer has been reached.” She extended a hand to pat Shiro’s arm. “I’m afraid I must leave Voltron in your hands, paladin.” And then she walked to the doors, presumably to one of the comm stations.

Lotor turned to the paladins, now alone on the docking bay floor as the Blades dispersed, though Kolivan and Krolia remained. “I assume your desire is to return home?” he asked.

Shiro looked at the others. Keith pretty clearly was neutral to the idea, but Lance, Pidge, and Hunk were visibly homesick just at the mention. “I think so, yes,” he said. “You mentioned that you needed to establish yourself, and that Voltron would be a hindrance. It seems now’s a good time for us to go back to Earth, and make sure it’s safe.”

Lotor inclined his head slightly. “Indeed. The hospitality of the galra is at your disposal, paladins. You have only to inform me when you wish to depart.”

Shiro turned to the paladins. “Earth’s a long way from anywhere and the only communication line is likely to take a hit early on. So...take a week. Go to your friends, your allies. Get hold of anything you want to bring back to Earth with you for your families, or for the defense. If communications drop early we’ll come get you. Try to remember that for everyone back home, the galra are the only aliens they’ll have ever seen. Remind them there’s more out here than that. There’s so much to look forward to as well.”

“Mermaids,” said Lance with a little smile. “Actual _mermaids_.”

“I’ll go visit Shay and maybe see if they’ll spare some crystals for Earth,” said Hunk.

“Olkarion for me,” said Pidge. “Just _one_ textbook could turn Earth upside _down_.”

“I would like to borrow Keith,” said Krolia. “We have a lot to talk about.”

Keith looked a little surprised, but shrugged and gave Shiro a look that said he was welcome to come along if he chose.

Shiro, though, shook his head. “I need to coordinate with Allura,” he said. “_We_ believe Lotor’s earned our trust, but the Coalition as a whole is probably not ready for that. They’ll want to know Voltron will come back if needed, and that even if our main comm line is down they can call us. I need to make sure that’s possible.” He gave Keith’s shoulder a squeeze, and headed off after Allura.

Six paladins, five directions. Lotor turned to Kolivan as the humans dispersed.

“Yes,” said Kolivan to the unspoken question. “In my experience this is typical human behavior.”

“How curious,” Lotor mused. “Let us go and see what the paladin and the princess decide.”


	2. The Long Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro gave the paladins a week to say their farewells and make any plans in case of a loss of contact later. 
> 
> Three pay a visit to their favorite planets and their favorite people. Three start to unravel a minor mystery.
> 
> No, I'm not going to tell you what Sendak's up to yet. The chapter was long enough without it.

Shiro caught up with Allura as she reached one of the comm centers. The staff quickly excused themselves so that she had the run of the place – a room full of screens that could open video links to anywhere in the Empire and quite a few places elsewhere if you knew the codes. Without comment, she began entering those codes, requesting a conference across hundreds of light years – and in some cases, galaxies.

“I need to be able to address any concerns,” Shiro said, when Allura finally turned to look at him. “Voltron’s going to be a long way from being any help if for any reason we can’t wormhole. The Sincline will be...essentially an unstoppable force.”

“You are trusting Lotor not to abuse that power,” Allura agreed. “As am I, considering I helped him create it.”

“But only Voltron could stop it,” Shiro pointed out. “If he does abuse it.”

Allura took a seat in one of the tall presentation chairs intended to let galra generals look imposing. She clearly didn’t like the implication of that and adjusted her dress and shawl to try and alter the chair’s appearance. “I’m going to send Merla with you,” she said quietly. “I need to stay here. The coalition finds me a good...symbol. And Lotor doesn’t seem to want to change that. But you will need three alchemists. That way the bridge will always be helmed and the teludav operator will be awake and alert.” She tilted her head, studying Shiro. “You are taking the only home I have left, to your home,” she said. “I do trust you not to destroy it...but I suspect your people will want to fly it. We’ll need the crew here, too, for the castleships under construction.”

She was asking Shiro if humans really, really needed to control her home. It would have been so nice to be able to say no. “...Humans haven’t got a ship that can traverse deep space,” he admitted. “Though I’m sure Sam will be happy to design one. Strip the crew down, or leave them in place. Whatever’s easier for you. We’ll train humans to fill roles if you strip the crew, but I’m pretty sure we’re going to bring at least one battleship-class crystal with us.”

Allura kept one eye on the consoles, waiting for answers to her hails. “Have you considered evacuating at least some of your people?” she asked. “You _must_ know Sendak has destroyed planets in the past. To lose Earth would be a terrible blow – you _know_ I understand that. But it should not also be the death of your people. You’ve done so much for the universe, in your very first years in contact.”

Shiro stared. Instinct told him that humanity would fight to the bitter end for its home and give a raging _fuck you_ to _any_ species that tried to tell it differently. But...at the same time, the desire to protect those most important, to save _something_ even if everything else was lost...that was human, too. “That’s...very kind, I think, princess,” he said carefully. “But asking honestly...where would we evacuate _to_? We’d...need somewhere uninhabited. Most humans have never met another intelligent species. It’ll be a huge cultural change. We couldn’t go from our home to a trade world, for example.”

Allura gestured to the screens. “Maybe we should bring that up,” she said. “The paladins of Voltron have more than enough...shall we say, social capital? To ask such a favor. There are uninhabited but _habitable_ worlds in many places.”

The consoles were starting to light up, the hails were being responded to. Allura adjusted her clothing and posture to be politely regal.

~*~

Lance took the time to pack, certainly, but within an hour Blue was off to visit Queen Luxia’s underwater city. _This_ time he was bringing a recording device, and a nice big sack for shells and other trinkets if it turned out they were different enough. He’d grown up on a beach, after all, and if the shells looked like Earth shells most of his family would just shrug it off.

He was sure Plaxum would have some good ideas for introducing her people to Earth, and vice versa. Earth had so much _water_.

Then a thought hit him, and Lance changed course – for Olkarion. He was going home, but it was a safe bet Matt wasn’t. Their relationship was casual, as it almost _had_ to be considering how often both of them were being shot at in situations where teaming up wasn’t an option, but...at least part of this last week should be spent with Matt and seeing how he wanted to deal with his sister getting to go home without him.

A Lion landing on Olkarion was kind of a big deal, though. Lance was _mobbed_ the moment he stepped out of Blue – by altean colonists, by olkari officials, by more than a few press representatives from unaligned worlds, and (at Lance’s best guess) a lot of members of the rebellion who just considered the Blue Paladin their fave. Lance did what he could to navigate the chaos, used to it by now and well able to smile and be gracious even though Matt was nowhere to be seen in the throng. Lance found he couldn’t blame Matt for that – Matt was a certifiable _genius_, he’d genuinely been at this longer than Lance, and if he _had_ turned up he’d have been press-pegged as the Paladin’s New Boyfriend in short order. Nobody wanted that.

A varga or two later, after it was clear Lance wasn’t going to put on a one-Lion air show or give exclusives, Ryner led Lance to a building that, frankly, looked to Lance a lot like other Olkari buildings except for the guards out front. Inside, Olia and her crew waited along with several olkari Lance didn’t know off hand.

Lance paused. “Uh. It wasn’t an official thing, honestly,” he said. “I just wanted to know if I could borrow Matt for a few quintants. While it’s quiet.”

“We have been speaking with the Black Paladin,” said Ryner softly. “Is it true? Voltron will be leaving us?”

“Er,” said Lance. Ryner sounded worried. Olia did not look happy. “Just for a while? It wouldn’t be forever. Uh. Pidge said she was coming here, she’d probably be a better person to talk to about the details.”

“But you _are_ leaving us,” said Olia gruffly. “At the mercy of the Empire and their mech.”

Lance paused. “Okay. First, trust has to start somewhere and Lotor’s put a lot on the line to help people out who aren’t in any way part of his empire. Which is still very big. Second, Allura’s staying right near by to make _sure_ he behaves. And third, we _will_ come back. We’ve gotta deal with Sendak and Haggar so they _don’t_ come back, that’s all.” He gave Matt a pleading, _help me out here_ look.

But Matt just looked...well, _unhappy_. “You’ve got no idea how much faith people have in Voltron,” he said. “I want you to protect Earth too. You _know_ I do. Mom and Dad are there. But you’re asking a lot, to go out of reach and out of range and trust it’ll work out.”

“...D’you really think _trust_ is a huge part of how Pidge thinks?” asked Lance bluntly. “Look...if you can’t believe me, believe her. She’ll be coming here soon if she isn’t already inbound. She said she wanted to talk about bringing Olkari textbooks to Earth. I’m not the one to talk to about technical stuff. I just wanted to see if Matt wanted to visit some mermaids with me for a quintant or two.”

Apparently Pidge’s paranoia _was_ a known quantity – her intelligence certainly was. Lance was allowed to take Matt off to a corner. “Was that _really_ necessary?”

Matt sighed. “Olia’s my captain, Lance. She’s never been too thrilled even having Elcris or Keith around and both of them were a big help, a _direct_ big help. Asking her to trust that Zarkon’s son, who she’s only ever seen from a distance, isn’t going to stomp the Coalition flat the moment Voltron’s out of range is asking a lot of her. She’s lost _family_ to the galra, Lance. You’d be the same in her shoes.”

“Probably,” Lance conceded. “But I’m not the one to fix it for her. Not by myself, anyway. That’s ...Shiro, or Allura, or Pidge.”

Matt shrugged. “So. What’s this about mermaids? There really _are_ mermaids?”

“Oh yeah,” Lance nodded. “Not surprised Pidge didn’t tell you, she never saw the place. Hunk and I crashed there a while back. You’ll need underwater gear that lets you talk, at least until they blow their shell bubbles at you. But the dancing’s awesome, the food is great, and the mermaids are really neat.”

Matt looked wry. “Looking to give me _more_ horror stories I can scare Pidge with?” he asked.

“I’m not the one telling her all about my sex life,” Lance pointed out. And then paused. “...Though now you mention it, I kind of envy you that you can. I just realized...I _am_ going home. And Mom and Dad are gonna have questions for me they’re probably not gonna like the answers to.”

Matt noticed the pensive turn of Lance’s mood. “...Our ship’s getting refitted anyway,” he said. “We’ll be in dock at least a few more movements, unless there’s some attack somewhere to cut it short. We’ve really racked up the damages lately. I’ll tell the captain I’ll be back in a few quintants. And we can go see the mermaids, and ...we can talk about it. Or not. Your choice.”

Lance smiled a little wryly. “Thanks. This started out as a vague plan of hot underwater sexcapades and seafood but it’s kinda sinking in that I really would’ve lost my mind out here without you.”

Matt chuckled. “Hot underwater sexcapades, huh?” he asked. “Good thing you mentioned _that_ in advance. I’ve probably got time to whip up a batch of lube an ocean wouldn’t just wash away. Lemme tell you there are some places you do _not_ want to rub raw. And seawater? _Not_ lube.”

~*~

Hunk flew the Yellow Lion out to Shay’s balmera, and received a rather calmer yet no less joyous a welcome than Lance had. He brought with him holocrystals with images of worlds he’d been to since his last visit, checked on the ‘repurposing’ of the galra equipment destroyed or just left behind after the balmera and its people had been freed. Rax was proving a decent engineer, learning as Hunk had learned – by getting into the guts of the machinery and basically fooling around with it until it worked or blew up. But Rax did not want to leave his balmera, not _ever_, and Shay was endlessly curious about other places.

“You should take them pictures of us, too,” she said, after Hunk explained where he was going.

Hunk smiled. No pleas, no recriminations, no ‘you leave us defenseless’ - though Rax might fill that role later. Balmerans _understood_ the pull of home, of _going_ home, and of protecting home. “Sure,” he said. “But you know, there’s no balmeras out by us. Maybe you could come visit Earth? Like, all of you?”

“If Sendak is finally gone from this place,” Shay mused, “I think most of us would not want to go where he is. He has not been kind.”

“Okay, fair point,” Hunk conceded. He wasn’t sure Earth would be either, come to think of it. This balmera alone had crystals enough to create at least a small fleet. How much did he trust humanity in general not to take and _keep_ taking until the balmera was beyond even a princess’ power to heal?

“...Do you think I could have a couple battleship class crystals, when I go?” asked Hunk carefully. “I mean. If you have them. I’d take whatever the balmera can spare, if not. Crystal shards and dust even. There _aren’t_ any balmeras out by Earth, and they’ll need the crystals...but you’re right, it’s not a good idea for an actual balmera to fly out there until the coast is clear. Thing is though, without a really big crystal, Earth is so far from everyone that the only way it could send a hello is through a chain of satellites that Sendak can take out easily.”

“For Voltron, I think we will do all we can,” said Shay. “If not here then another balmera. Is that why you came? For crystals?”

Hunk blushed. Actually blushed. “Uh. No,” he admitted. “I mean kind of, because I’m worried about my home, but mostly ...I’ve just got a few days before I go home and it might be a while before I can get back in touch, and I ...thought maybe we could spend them together? I mean, if that’s okay?”

“That is most okay, friend Hunk,” smiled Shay, and took Hunk’s hand in hers.

~*~

As it happened, Pidge missed her brother’s departure for ‘Mer-world’ by only a few vargas. Like Lance, she got swarmed on landing. But because he’d arrived first and rather specifically dropped the job of explaining everything on her, she didn’t escape the mob for some time. She wound up requesting a portable holoprojector with a map of the known universe just so she could make clear how far the paladins had to go, what the communication difficulties would be, the plans to _deal_ with those difficulties, and why Voltron needed to go because Earth was much, much, _much_ too far for the Coalition fleet to make the trip.

Even after the press and the autograph seekers were gone, Pidge found herself spending the entire rest of her first ‘free’ day carefully walking the Coalition ship captains and political leaders through what was going to happen, just to make sure they understood yes, Voltron needed to go, no Voltron was not going to leave them undefended, yes they’d _thought_ about this. Shiro could give them the Plan, but Olkari tended to needed Pidge-levels of documentation and detail.

After that, though, her trip became more fun.

There was meeting with Olkari teachers about how to impart the basics of power systems and interstellar travel, as well as calling balmeras and how to repurpose damaged or cracked crystals, and identifying the size of crystal required for a given project. Pidge knew her father was on Earth; she also knew that, brilliant as he was, he was a terrible teacher and tended to focus more on using his knowledge than imparting it. Humanity needed to _know_ this stuff, and that meant finding a way to _teach_ it.

Once she’d got that squirreled away, though, Pidge indulged herself in spending time with the Olkari scientists and theoreticians, seeing what they were experimenting on and experimenting with, what the _latest_ ideas were. She was pretty used to only Hunk being able to keep up with her, so having a whole room/lab/auditorium of brilliant minds to bounce ideas off of was a rare and valued treat. It was much more of a vacation to Pidge than the two years in the colony – the alteans had lost a lot of their science and Pidge had wound up teaching them some just to have a conversation worth listening to.

When Matt returned, about two quintants before they were set to leave, Pidge shifted gears.

He looked good, honestly; toned in the way you got if you did a lot of swimming, and relaxed. It had never occurred to Pidge that being in a relationship – even one as long-distance and intermittent as the one he had with Lance – might be a health perk.

Of course, he had to ruin it by grinning innocently and asking, “You really want to know details?”

“No,” said Pidge firmly. “No, I don’t. I’m just – happy for you, I guess? You two started out really badly.”

“He’s good at talking, when he realizes he needs to,” said Matt. His expression became more solemn. “I wish I was going with you.”

“I do too,” Pidge admitted. “Are you sure -?”

“I’m sure,” said Matt. “Olia needs an engineer she trusts, and Romelle is still learning and Olia is still getting used to Elcris. And someone has to speak for Earth, out here, while you’re all away.”

“It’s gonna be more than that, you know,” said Pidge. “Allura’s going to need you to keep her up to date with the fleet. So she can keep things balanced, with Lotor. You’re basically gonna be adjutant for the whole Coalition.”

“And still sleeping on a folding bunk,” laughed Matt. “It won’t be so bad though. We’ve got all the Alteans joining us – and even if we’re having to train them on the job, that’s still _thousands_ of soldiers we didn’t have before. And soon we’ll have castleships, _plural_, and ...you really think the galra will calm down when they’re running on crystals?”

“It’s a theory Allura likes,” Pidge admitted. “I’m not sure yet.”

Matt shrugged. “At any rate...I mean...we’re finally getting what we fought _for_. You’ve no idea what that means to so many people, Pidge. There’s crews starting to talk about going home now that their families are safe. But at the same time we’re getting people wanting to sign on, because what _they_ really want to do is _build_. Create something new on the ashes, and protect it. When you’ve saved Earth and put the last of Zarkon’s ugly down, you’ve got to bring Earth into this. We may be a little behind a lot of other worlds in terms of technology, but creatively we’ve got a lot to offer.”

Pidge grinned. “You sound like you’re looking forward to it. Got any messages for Mom and Dad?”

“Oh hell yes,” Matt nodded, and fished out a crystal that looked like a translucent disco ball. “When you do get communications set up, use this. We’ll finally have a secure line to talk on.” Then, more soberly, he added, “And keep an eye on Lance for me.”

Pidge blinked. “If he’s getting shot at so am I,” she pointed out. “And Blue’s got better armor.”

“That’s not what I mean,” said Matt. “There’s reasons he wigged out so badly after our first time together. Stuff unrelated to the bad judgment calls. He’s worried about his family.”

Pidge frowned. “Isn’t everyone?”

Matt looked exasperated. “Look...you and I know Mom and Dad wouldn’t care if we brought home an alien, or a sentient AI, or ...whatever we might be happy with. Lance doesn’t have that. He’s part of a big family, and he loves them, but apparently there’s some ….sliiiight possibility that taking up with a dude would be a Problem for him, with them.”

“He never mentioned his family being backward,” said Pidge blankly.

“Not backward,” sighed Matt. “Just some things take more adjusting than others. Like...okay. We could come home with a mermaid or an olkari or a bii-boh-bii and they’d be fine, man or woman or inbetween, they’d be fine. But we probably would get a talking to if we brought home a flat-earth conspiracy theorist, right?”

“You are _not_ a flat-earth conspiracy theorist,” said Pidge heatedly.

“I won’t _be_ there either,” Matt pointed out. “I’ll be _here_. And there’s any number of good reasons why I probably won’t be able to defend myself – or him – if he’s right and they do have a problem with his choices. So I’m asking you, and asking you to talk to mom and dad about it. He might be wrong – he can be a worrywart sometimes. But if he’s _not_, I’m telling you so you can make sure he’s got backup.”

Pidge looked troubled. And, just for a moment, a very little moment, resentful. Lance seemed to see her as a little sister, and was still half-pining over Allura anyway, and here her brother was being serious about _protecting_ the dork. “All right,” she agreed. “I’ll make sure he’s okay. And help him beat sense into his family if it turns out he needs it.”

~*~

Keith walked quietly with Krolia along the corridors, apparently in no hurry to get to whatever point Krolia might be wanting to make.

Krolia took him to a meeting room. Comfortable chairs – nothing ostentatious, but one could undergo a seven hour briefing or debriefing without getting overly sore. Liquids, for parched throats. She gestured to Keith to take a seat, and he did.

The fact that he didn’t even look curious concerned her. She’d seen this kind of behavior before. So she got a drink packet, set it in front of him, and sat down opposite him. “I want you to tell me _everything_ that happened from the moment you were separated from the other paladins to this morning,” she said, and her tone said she might be his mother but right now she was also his senior Blade officer, and this was not a request.

It did, at least, get a reaction. Keith looked down, at his hands lightly holding that drink packet. “It’s going to sound weird,” he said. “And...bad.”

Krolia nodded slowly. “Tell me anyway,” she said. “Everything. You have no idea what detail might be important, so leave nothing out.” Which...was and was not true. _Ordinarily_ she’d trust Keith to give a solid and usable report. But not right now. She couldn’t _sense_ it, not...quite like Kolivan might. But Keith was her son, and she’d had time to get to know him, and the feeling something was _wrong_ was making her skin crawl.

And he just accepted the command, with no bristling, no ‘hey, I’m not _completely_ green’ irritation, and that convinced her that her guesses were right.

Krolia sat in front of Keith for several hours then, as he told her about the Screwball and the memories, and then the ‘reality skips’, and the futures and presents where everyone died, where in many cases he’d had to watch them die because he couldn’t _stop_ it happening. And, attention fixed firmly on his hands, he told her about Shiro, and Oriande.

Krolia had been a senior Blade almost since the founding of the order. She’d _met_ Marmora. She’d trained Blade after Blade, knowing many if not _most_ of them would die in the field. Only Antok and Kolivan had more seniority...well, just Kolivan now.

She understood most of what had really happened, as Keith spoke. It wasn’t for official reasons that she kept her expression neutral, unconcerned.

It was because she knew it wouldn’t matter to her son right now, but _she_ needed to keep a solid grip on her emotions or she would take a ship and personally hunt Haggar down to rip the wraith’s throat out. And that way lay many, many dead Blades before her.

Keith wound his tale to a close, bringing things up to date to this morning, as requested. As he finished, he raised his eyes to study her with a sort of distant combination of anticipation and calculation, judging her reaction. Krolia gave him nothing to work with.

Instead, she said, “Have you tested any of your skills, since waking by Shiro?”

Keith blinked. “Skills?”

Krolia nodded. “You told me you can sense quintessence. Hear Cosmo’s thoughts. Have you tried, lately?”

“I could feel Shiro,” said Keith. “He felt like my Shiro, but maybe all Shiros across the realities would.”

Krolia nodded slowly. So that wasn’t it, then. She knew the stages of druid conversion. The biddability, that was typical enough, but it wasn’t what was setting her teeth on edge. “Aside from this reality hopping,” she said quietly, “do you in any way feel _different_?”

Keith gave this due consideration. “I’m not sure,” he said. “But I think maybe part of me is still...where I’m supposed to be.”

_Supposed to be_? Krolia frowned. It was important she understand. She couldn’t make guesses, not right now. “Where are you supposed to be?”

But Keith shook his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “My home reality, I’d think.”

Krolia nodded slowly. “Close your eyes,” she said. “Think about this. You can follow the trail, you can _sense_ where it leads. Where are you supposed to be?”

Keith obeyed, eyes closing. Eventually, he raised his hand and pointed….at the floor, though at an angle.

It wasn’t what Krolia had expected, but there was definitely _something_ new going on here anyway. She rose. “Very well,” she said. “I will speak to Shiro and Kolivan, and meet you at your Lion in fifteen doboshes.”

Keith blinked at her, not moving.

Krolia sighed. “You know where you’re supposed to be,” she said. “We’re going to go there. But you’re _not_ going alone. In case you’re unclear, that _is_ an order.”

~*~

Shiro initially went with Allura, which meant several hours of patiently explaining to the coalition heads that Voltron was not in fact abandoning them, and that two paladins had plans to make sure Voltron would, if ever out of touch, not _stay_ so for very long, and no, Voltron _was_ going even if they thought it was a terrible idea because in fact Earth deserved to be defended too.

There was more than a little in terms of accusations going around, too. That the paladins were selfishly choosing to place their homeworld above all the worlds in the coalition. And Shiro had had to lean hard on several years of not biting people’s heads off when he was angry. Allura had smoothly stepped in when he’d had to bite his tongue and internally count to twenty a few times.

It didn’t matter how much the leaders howled, really. They were still going to go home and be certain their home was safe. They were human, and that was part of being human, and the coalition leaders would just have to accept that. But Shiro was still very relieved when, at last, the final screen went dark.

Allura put a hand on Shiro’s arm. “I will stay,” she said gently. “Most of them still have homeworlds, even if they have been devastated by the occupation and war. You and the other paladins have more than earned the time you need to defend your home.”

“I think I’m just glad I told everyone to take a _week_,” sighed Shiro tiredly, running a hand through his bangs. “I might have to have Keith forgive me for spending it _sleeping_.”

“Not just yet,” said Krolia, from the doorway. The sheer _solemnity_ of her stance had both Allura and Shiro straightening up as if this were some official gathering. “Please excuse me, highness, Paladin. I have news. About Keith.”

“Anything,” said Shiro at once, without pause for thought. “What news? Has he gotten worse? He seemed all right this morning.”

Krolia took a deep breath. “This will not be easy to hear,” she said. “But I am certain now. He was put through the druidic transmutation.”

Allura blinked. “No,” she said. “He is _not_ a druid. I know what a druid feels like, Krolia.”

Shiro said nothing, but his skin was now several shades paler. “...What?”

“We got to him in time,” Krolia said. “So you are correct. He is not a Druid. But he _has_ been...damaged.” She turned to Shiro. “Much as you are not the same man you were before you became the Champion.”

Shiro winced at that. “...Just tell me,” he said. “And what we can do.”

“The first step of the process is to break the subject’s mind,” said Krolia in a quiet tone that in no way hid her desire to do painful murder to those responsible. “Zarkon wanted fighters for his arena – people willing to do violence, any violence, if that was what it took to survive. Haggar, however, demands _obedience_ above all. Her druids are powerful and _completely_ devoted to her. The first step is to break the subject from everything they have loved before.” She frowned. “...I think she may have sabotaged herself a bit in this instance, for which we should be grateful.”

Allura looked politely confused. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“She does not seem to be aware that Keith is mate-bonded to Shiro,” said Krolia. “Not simply _in love with_, but mated to. And that she has already tested – and tempered – that bond by sending the clone Ryou to the paladins. Keith has a framework for ‘his’ Shiro, and actual experience with men who may share Shiro’s face and voice and form but are not ‘his’ Shiro. That is ...quite possibly unique, and works in Keith’s favor.”

Shiro now looked as lost as Allura. “How, exactly?”

Krolia took a deep breath, but did not look away. “In other cases like this I have seen, the ...indoctrinated sensitive, even if rescued, _cannot_ accept that their mate is _really_ ‘their’ mate. The person in question is a copy, or a clone, or a twin, or in some cases a ghost.” She raised her chin slightly. “I am sorry, Shiro. He thinks he is in an alternate universe. From his perspective he has been hopping from world to world every time he goes to bed or wakes up. He cannot tell when he is dreaming. And he thinks ‘his’ Shiro is dead...and, moreover, that he betrayed that Shiro. It is only because he has met variations of you before now, and decided you are _all_ worthy of his care, that he does not distance himself from you.”

Shiro found a chair by feel and sat down, now looking a bit sick.

“You wouldn’t be this calm if there weren’t something we can do,” said Allura, as much hope as statement.

“This is why he’s been so quiet, so accepting,” Shiro said softly, putting it together. “He’s trying to figure out what’s the same, and what isn’t, and whether he should change anything.”

Krolia nodded, to both of them it seemed. “The good news here is, we have rescued Blades from this stage of indoctrination before now. It will take time. I will go over the basics on the way. The bad news is, there seems to be something _else_ affecting Keith as well.”

“Just tell me,” said Shiro woodenly.

But Krolia was now looking at Allura. “I had hoped we would not need to have this conversation, princess,” she said. “My people have suffered enough risk. Your word, please, that what I discuss now you do not speak of with anyone. _Anyone_.”

“Your people?” asked Allura, moving to put a reassuring hand on Shiro’s shoulder. “The galra?”

“Your _word_, highness,” Krolia said levelly. “For Keith’s sake.”

Shiro studied Krolia, and seemed to put it together. “Give it, Allura,” he said flatly. “She’s not afraid of what it’ll do to you. She’s afraid of what _you_ will do to _them_.”

“I?” asked Allura, thoroughly confused now. “For -” she paused. “Very well. For Keith’s sake. I give my word.”

“He was taken because through him, Haggar could know the location and the tests of Oriande,” said Krolia levelly. “And while Haggar had him I think she ...used him. Somehow. Maybe to get in. He is not half _galra_, princess. He is half _galtean_. Lotor is only the most famous of us.”

It was Allura’s turn to sit down in a chair, pale. “Galtean...there _cannot_ be many such people in the universe. The alteans were lost.”

But Shiro was thinking on an entirely different path. “That’s how he ‘betrayed’ me,” he realized, paying Allura’s shock no attention. “If Haggar made a dream into reality...and he thought she was hurting _me_...”

Krolia nodded to Shiro. “She tortured the image of you in front of him, until Keith told her everything she wanted to know. As the image of you begged him not to. And when he had told Haggar everything, she killed that image.” She looked to Allura. “There are not. And yet, there are more of us than I think you would suspect. Alteans are shapeshifters, after all. And galteans can look more galra than alteans can. We have simply looked galra _enough_. Keith showed marks of the chosen, when we neared Oriande. He entered on his own, and passed the trials, but not in the same way you did. His gifts seem to be more those of a seeker than an alchemist.”

Allura took a deep breath. “You and I should have a very long talk about this, before you go with the paladins to Earth,” she said. “Please don’t tell me you won’t. If Keith is going to take time to heal and you have experience with what is wrong, I do not see you as the sort to simply trust that your son will eventually work it all out. But it can also _wait_. Please tell me what this has to do with this moment, right now.”

“I asked Keith to point the way to where he thinks he needs to be,” said Krolia simply. “It could be anything, of course, but if it is Oriande then I need someone that can go in with him.”

“I will go with him,” said Shiro flatly. “And if the guardian of Oriande has a problem with it then _tough_.”

~*~

They took the Black Lion, which was the biggest and had room for a personal craft inside. Shiro tried to be reassured that Black didn’t take exception to Keith’s state, and they navigated more or less by following Keith’s pointed finger. Everyone was some variant of nervous or upset except for Keith, who just watched everything with a detached sort of interest and petted Cosmo’s big furry head; the wolf hadn’t exactly asked to come along so much as it had simply teleported itself into Black’s cockpit with an expectant look.

When Allura thought – not for the first time – that it often seemed as if Keith and the wolf had silent conversations, it occurred to her that she could just ask and in Keith’s current state he’d probably answer her. So she tried it. “What are you two discussing?”

Keith blinked at her; he hadn’t expected the question. “You can’t hear him?”

Allura shook her head. “When did you?”

“After Oriande,” said Keith. “He thinks it’s good that we’re on a hunt.”

Allura carefully did not turn around, though she could sense that the others were now paying attention. “Do you know what we’re hunting?”

“It’s just what he calls it,” said Keith. “I need to be somewhere. You all didn’t have to come. We’re probably a very tempting target.”

“We’ll be quick,” said Shiro. “Just point the way.”

Keith did so. Despite using urgent language, like ‘need to be’, he didn’t seem at all anxious, or concerned, except for the safety of everyone _else_. Even that was a bit muted. Shiro followed Keith’s directions, and it was soon clear enough that yes, they were going back to Oriande.

Krolia took pity on Shiro’s stony expression; the man had not had at all a good month. “It will pass, Shiro,” she said quietly. “Kolivan once went through this. It is her way of...rebuilding into what she wants. Like ice on a pond. If you break the ice, it _will_ reform. Haggar’s methodology is to sink her hooks deep into her druids before that happens, so that when the ice hardens again, the self reforms in the manner she desires. It sounds horrible now, but the pleasant thing about reality is that it does not require you to believe it is real in order to _be_ real. It will work out. It will just take time.” She paused, thinking. “You may want to keep him a bit isolated on Earth until it does, though.”

Shiro’s expression shifted, showing he was following her implications. Keith had never really fit in, on Earth, and now that they knew _why_ it wasn’t likely to get better any time soon. Humans would soon have great reasons to dislike galra. If Keith took in that hatred while his mental defenses were on vacation...Shiro nodded to Krolia. “Understood.” He thought about it. “So...she really wanted to keep him?”

“Who can say,” sighed Krolia. “Haggar almost never has only one plan. She finds a way to gain _regardless_ of how a given situation comes out. If we hadn’t found him, she would have a new druid and you would be down a paladin, and Allura would have to come with you which would weaken the coalition’s position with Lotor. If at any point we got him back, we would be weakened by the need to heal him, dividing our attention and giving her a freer hand to work.”

“She wins either way,” Shiro agreed sourly. Ahead, the petrulian zone loomed. He took a deep breath. “I’m going to get as close as I can. We’ve got spare oxygen if needed.”

Allura frowned at Shiro. “The guardian may kill us if those who are not chosen approach,” she warned.

“Right now I’m prepared to have an argument with it that this is a special case,” said Shiro flatly, and Allura didn’t doubt that for once Shiro would pit lion against Lion if he thought It needed. “Helmets on, just in case.”

Shiro, Allura, and Keith put on their paladin helmets; Krolia activated her Marmora mask. Shiro piloted the Black Lion closer and closer to the white hole, monitoring its status.

Nothing.

He flew into the white hole. There was no spectral lion to snarl. No pushback, no test.

“Something is deeply wrong,” Allura said softly.

The Lion emerged into the beautiful world of floating islands that was Oriande. Shiro and Krolia both gasped softly in awe.

“I never thought I would ever see it,” said Krolia softly, and put a hand on Keith’s arm. “Thank you for bringing us here. It is beautiful.”

“It’s changed,” Keith replied. He looked at Cosmo and the wolf disappeared – taking Keith with it.

“Wait -” Shiro spoke too late, and looked around. “Where did he go? Allura? Krolia? Do you see him?”

“There,” said Krolia, pointing. The wolf and Keith were running along the islands, not urgently but almost playfully. Teleporting from isle to isle, as if playing tag.

Allura tapped some of the Black Lion’s controls. “There. We have a lock on him,” she said to Shiro. “Just follow. I think the wolf needed some space, that’s all.”

“It certainly seems suited to this environment,” noted Krolia. “The islands let him take advantage of his teleporting abilities.”

Shiro got his heart back into his chest and focused on following the pair. He didn’t begrudge Keith a little fun, but for a moment that had _not_ been pleasant. Staying focused on that, he didn’t really take in the surroundings until he heard Allura’s tearful, “Oh, no...”

“What?” asked Shiro, looking outward. “Did something attack?”

“No,” said Allura, pointing to a still-distant island. “Haggar….has _destroyed_ the temple of the life givers.”

Shiro and Krolia followed her finger. On one of the islands was a lot of rubble. It seemed reasonable that it had at one point been a building. “What does that mean?” asked Krolia.

“It means there will be no more Oriande-trained alchemists,” said Allura. “She’s destroyed the path.”

“Does that mean she’s the _last_ alchemist,” said Shiro carefully, “or that she did this because she’s _not_ the last?” He didn’t really want to think about Haggar with Allura’s magic on top of her own. That was too much for anyone, let alone someone as evil as Haggar.

“Keith isn’t going to the temple,” said Krolia, and Shiro returned his attention to the tracking monitor. “He’s over there.”

“I will want to see the temple,” said Allura firmly. “Before we leave. If there’s _anything_ that can be salvaged...”

Shiro flew the Black Lion to where Keith and Cosmo had finally paused their game, or their hunt. “What _is_ that?”

_That_ was some kind of shimmering thing on the ground near Keith and Cosmo. The wolf seemed...mournful. Keith was consoling the wolf with pets and hugs.

“...That may be the guardian,” sighed Allura. “No wonder we could enter freely.”

Shiro touched the Lion down gently near the shimmering pile, and the three of them hopped out of the Lion and floated gently down to the ground. Closer to, the shimmering pile was a translucent, luminescent lion-form, sprawled on the ground amidst pools of its own shining blood. The lion was not dead, but certainly dying….and beautiful.

“It is the guardian,” Allura confirmed. The luminescence was starting to fade, leaving...a white-furred lion, huge, with little motes of white light in its fur not unlike Cosmo’s pale blue motes. Cosmo was seated by the lion’s head, sniffing noses with the dying beast in a manner both respectful and mournful.

“Cosmo says when the lion dies, this place dies with it,” said Keith calmly, petting the wolf’s fur.

“This is where you needed to be?” asked Shiro, walking over to the lion.

Keith nodded. “But there’s nothing I can do. Maybe Allura can heal it.”

Allura shook her head. She didn’t know how she knew, but she was certain of her feelings. “I can’t,” she said. “He’s lost too much.”

Shiro bent down and before Allura or Krolia could warn him not to, he reached out to touch the lion. The great shaggy-maned head turned sluggishly at the contact -

\- and before Shiro could do more than feel a moment of surprise, the white lion dispersed into a swarm of gentle white motes that flew into his body, leaving only the pool of fading, luminescent blood on the ground.

Cosmo threw back his head and howled, a wolf’s mourning call that seemed to echo all throughout Oriande.

“There isn’t time, now,” said Allura urgently. “Shiro. Shiro! We must get back to the Lion and get _out_ of here.”

Shiro shook his head as if it were filled with cobwebs. “What?” he asked, standing up. “Why?”

“Oriande is collapsing in on itself without the lion to hold it here,” said Keith, also standing. He put his hand on Cosmo’s ruff, waiting for the howl to end. “Time to go.”

Krolia grabbed Keith; Allura grabbed Shiro. The two women dragged their respective spacey paladins back to the Black Lion, hoping at least _one_ of them would snap out of it enough to fly the Lion back into normal space. Cosmo met them in the cockpit.

“I’ve got it,” said Shiro, and got them moving at top speed for the slice in the sky back to normal space.

“Why did you do that?” asked Krolia. “Touch it?”

“I just wanted to see if I could ease it a little,” Shiro protested. “Just because we couldn’t heal it didn’t mean it had to suffer.”

Keith said, “I think that’s what it called me for. I’m not sure. But I think it wanted someone to know what had happened. Who wasn’t Haggar.”

Shiro was focused on flying the Black Lion back to Central Command, and so didn’t see Allura giving him a worried look. His arm tingled. Not in a _bad_ way – and Shiro had a lot of experience with the various bad tingles and could be definitive about it – but.

But.

The white lion had changed him. Maybe...given him a parting gift. For trying to help, or for some other reason. Despite its ethereal appearance it had _felt_ as he’d have expected a lion to feel, which probably meant what he’d felt had been tailored to what he’d expected.

And Keith felt very, very..._real_. Shiro knew where he was sitting without looking – not just a simple deduction, but genuine _knowing_. That was new. When they were back at central command he wanted to test it, because that sense of _knowing_ was just about exactly what he needed after the past week or so. The idea that maybe the gift was just ...being able to know where Keith was, would be more than enough.

Allura said, “Oriande was irreplaceable. It was old before Zarkon was ever born, before the galra ever had an empire for him to inherit. And Haggar has destroyed it.” She sounded like she was saying it out loud to be sure she believed it.

“You can make a new one,” said Keith calmly, scritching Cosmo’s ears. “You’re an alchemist. When you find a guardian, find a place, make a new one.”

Allura gave Keith a look that said clearly that she was certain Keith had lost his mind, and she was not going to get into a crazy debate with an equally crazy person.

Krolia noticed it and said, “Someone built the first Oriande. You’re the strongest of the alchemists that survive. You should at least give it some thought.”

Allura almost snapped that if Keith hadn’t told Haggar where Oriande was – or if he’d admitted he’d _been there_ and was thus at risk – that maybe Oriande would still _be_ there. But she didn’t. Not because she wasn’t upset, but because she understood exactly why Keith _hadn’t _told her, and why Krolia hadn’t, and further that right now was not the time to discuss any of it.

The rest of the trip back was silent; there was too much to think about, too much to process, and too little to really say.


	3. Priming the Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I realize y'all have had to wait longer than usual for this update; my monitor died and I had to get a replacement before I could finish the chapter.
> 
> While the Paladins are saying their farewells to the far universe, the galra are getting settled in to say hello to Earth.

By a mere handful of days, the galra reached Earth first.

Or at least, they reached Earth’s solar system. Cruiser after cruiser floated some distance past Sedna, hiding in the Oort cloud. Liutenant Hepta and his fleet were deeply happy to have been reunited with the rest of the Fire of Purification, and while Sendak planned, the two groups of ships were mostly catching up on the news of events of the past year.

“These are the most valued humans,” said Sendak, indicating names on a list culled from every transmission Hepta’s ships had overheard and had time to decode. “The ones the paladins ask after.”

Haggar nodded. “Do not capture all of them,” she advised. “Only some. The more the paladins’ attention is divided, the longer this may continue. Are the humans _equally_ valued?”

Sendak frowned. “By what measurement?”

“Humans are pack minded creatures,” said Haggar dismissively. “Each of these valued humans is likely one of a paladin’s pack members. Know which, and you know which paladin suffers.”

“A less than relevant distinction at present,” Sendak rumbled. “Scans indicate the planet will be aware of us immediately, once we close past the largest gas giant. They will of course alert Voltron. We will not likely have time to be particular about prisoners.”

Haggar’s lip curled. “You can,” she said. “Choose your most capable and stealthy hunters, Sendak. I will hide your ship of choice with my power. You will be close enough to take many prisoners.”

Sendak grunted. He didn’t doubt Haggar’s claim, only, “Hostages, one presumes. Drive the creatures mad with pack members they cannot find. But the alarm will be raised when the important ones disappear, witch. Quantity, or quality?”

It was a good question, worthy of Zarkon’s favored pupil. Haggar simply waited for Sendak to make up his mind.

“Quantity,” he decided. “Initially, at least. I want a good look at their defenses. If we can take numbers and scatter them it will divert the paladins even if this is the only trip we can make. If their defenses are weak enough, we can capture several cruisers of slaves before revealing our presence.”

Haggar bowed. “As you choose, general,” she rasped. “Inform me when you have chosen a ship to house the captives, and I will mask it.”

~*~

They moved quickly; the unsecured transmissions to and from Earth told them they didn’t have a lot of time. A cruiser was chosen, and with the aid of several druids, masked from detection. Stealth was not the usual galra way, but _this_ mission was not about conquest. Conquest would have been easy, and short-lived considering Voltron would arrive soon.

_This_ mission was about _leverage_.

A cruiser could hold thousands of prisoners. Sendak took his ‘test’ ship past Jupiter and checked his scans. The mask was holding. Past Mars. Holding. It drifted toward Earth’s daylit side, hiding near the sun but not directly in the sun’s path, angled to present the smallest possible shadow on the planet.

The first captives were individuals who for whatever reason were far enough from the view of others to simply be tractor-beamed up, and the humans on the space stations who could see the ship with nice, low-tech eyeballs and might otherwise have called for help. All over the daylit world – at that time, the north and south american continents – lone hikers, campers, farm workers found themselves lifted into the air. Stunned and shocked by what was happening – quite a few had thought the ‘oncoming invasion’ was a hoax – they were quickly subdued and put in cells by the waiting galra. The planet below rotated and more and more were captured, while Sendak’s crew monitored communications searching for any sign of outcry.

Earth had prepared for a _war_. A kidnapping mission had not been on the menu.

Five thousand prisoners later, the cruiser retreated as quietly as it came, with a few automated responses newly added to the space stations.

Humans were _not_ quiet prisoners. Some threatened to fight – which the galra guards, mostly quite bored since they’d been stuck trying to cross deep space the hard way for over a year, happily obliged, with witnesses so that the other humans knew better than to resist. Some offered wealth, resources, influence.

Haggar paid attention to the last, and told her druids to bring those humans to her. One at a time, of course. If the human had influence among its kind, she wanted to make use of it – but first its loyalty would need to be ironclad.

Sendak, for his part, now had quite a _lot_ of hostages. But as he didn’t want to fight with a cruiser _full_ of particularly noisy and unbroken slaves, he set his staff to locating a planet nearby that could be used as a base. Not in this system, obviously. The only suitably terraformable planet in this system was far too close to the target and would be found far too easily by Voltron. A nearby star system would do. When one was found, the remaining prisoners were sent there and another cruiser was sent to Earth to capture another cruiser full.

There were _billions_ of humans down there. A mere five thousand disappearing wasn’t even rippling the surface. And some returned, primed by the druids to remove all reference to any ‘possible kidnappings’ or ‘strange events’ from the broadcasts and news reports, and to air every possible theory other than the obvious as to why the garrisons would take control as they had.

Distraction, division, discord. Voltron was ready for a fight in front of it, against Sendak. It might not be ready for a fight from behind, from the people it was trying to protect. Nothing stung quite like a knife in the back.

And the more time they _had_, the more nearby worlds they could use slaves to build ships, quintessence farms and processing stations, and weapons, out of the reach of other humans.

But there _was_ another part of the plan. Each slave colony, obviously, needed galra to guard it and provide transportation for its resources, but once discovered, Voltron would likely just go and get those slaves back. They might be traumatized and rather fewer in number when that _happened_, but Sendak didn’t have the forces or time to stop it as such.

For that kind of thing he needed _valuable_ slaves.

Lieutenant Hepta proved his value by providing, culled from hundreds of hours of transmissions, names of humans the paladins knew and cared about, and what the humans had named their locations.

While Sendak waited for Voltron, he had Hepta and some of his crew monitoring Earth internal transmissions to pinpoint more precise locations. Two islands were identified and camoflaged strike teams were chosen and sent down to conceal themselves, hunt, and wait. When Earth scans said Voltron was near, they would move to take their targets.

Voltron would not dare use its great blazing sword on a cruiser that held its _friends_.

~*~

Lotor’s final week with Voltron underfoot was _almost_ as much of a headache as he’d thought it probably would be. He didn’t get to have any kind of real conversation with Allura because, of course, the paladins required her attention. The coalition was in a _panic_ because … well, because they were clearly under the _deeply_ mistaken impression that Voltron was theirs to command rather than a quite independent entity that happened to wish them well. And the Empire had a million and one things it needed his input on, because for ten thousand years Zarkon had literally had nothing else to do with his time than personally direct a few _thousand_ minor governors.

Zarkon hadn’t _slept_ in ten thousand years, either. Lotor, on the other hand, liked at least a few hours of downtime in a given quintant. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to run the Empire, now that he really thought of it as _his_ empire, but that the requirements of food and sleep meant he really was going to need to delegate and – at the moment – there wasn’t anyone to delegate _to_.

Not that he could have delegated his primary headache of the moment anyway.

Sendak had retreated. Abruptly, and without trace, all his mobile forces had...well, mobilized. Nothing now defended his holdings but the surface installations and space stations. That wasn’t _nothing_, but it was well within Lotor’s current power to take it all apart, with time. He was, in fact, already organizing fleets to do just that. One world at a time, starting with the quintessence farms.

_That_ wasn’t the problem. The _problem_ was what happened to those places _afterward_.

Were they declared independent? Some of them had quite large armories, and were largely uninhabitable outside the defensive fortifications. Were they under the Coalition’s umbrella? If so, did the Coalition have an obligation to assist in liberating them from Sendak’s control? Did the Coalition owe _Lotor_ a debt if he did that job for them? And if they did, how did they pay it? Were the worlds automatically assumed part of the Empire? Given the Empire had taken them from Sendak, presumably conferring an improvement in living conditions, how much right of protest did those worlds have? Would a period of indentured servitude be appropriate, and if so under what conditions?

And that was just the shortest, most cursory glance at the list of questions that had to be decided. And quickly, because the planets _weren’t_ heavily defended now and waiting too long would invite pirate crews to move in, take over, and add a whole new layer of questions and a few layers of difficulty to the task.

It was just as well Voltron would be elsewhere for a while. Tempers were already rising, and if Voltron were around _someone_ would get the bright idea of engineering a situation that only Voltron could resolve, purely as a means to decide the issues the way they preferred. Only Allura and Shiro seemed to have any real grasp of political reality, and of the two, Lotor was fairly sure only Allura actually _cared_. Shiro seemed to regard it more as a hungry mouse might regard the maze standing between it and cheese; an obstacle to be analyzed and overcome.

~*~

Marco McClain led a fairly quiet life for a twentysomething out of college. There weren’t a lot of jobs he particularly liked, so he’d gotten a degree in business management because it seemed like a fairly safe sort of bet to be useful. And it had, more or less. He worked as the assistant manager and night shift manager for a reasonably popular and rather touristy restaurant in town, and he’d worked his way up while getting his degree. It didn’t pay a lot, but it covered enough to let him – for the first time in his life – have a place of his own, with a bedroom he didn’t have to share with anyone, and the waitresses were pretty.

It wasn’t that he disliked his family; on the contrary, Marco loved his huge family fiercely. But he didn’t have the money to buy a house – or even rent one, really – and he wasn’t married so he didn’t really _need_ a house, and one bedroom apartments were cheaper in the city. It was generally accepted, by Marco as well as the rest of his family, that when he met the Right Girl, he’d get married and probably buy a house on the same block as his parents, grandparents, and oldest brother Luis. Family gatherings joked about owning the whole street piece by piece eventually.

And that they really _should_ because my, didn’t little brother Lance have a _big_ ship and need somewhere to park it.

There was being upstaged by a younger sibling, and then there was ‘younger sibling disappears without warning or trace, official sources say he’s dead, then boom he turns up a year later with a skyscraper sized metal lion parked in the back yard’. It had been all the family talked about, then all the family talked about _again_, and then when Ryou and Sam Holt came to Earth in a very definitely alien spaceship and the entire clan had to be relocated to a bunker for a few months, all the family could talk about _yet again_.

Marco was a good man. He really was. But the next time his little brother turned up Marco was resolved to pulling every brotherly prank in the family book plus a new set, because this was really getting to be too much. Little sister Veronica, stationed at the Garrison, was more or less in agreement, but only in a general sense. She visited when she could, called when she couldn’t, and wasn’t allowed to say particularly much. Marco got the impression that gigantic robot cats on the lawn was just the beginning, and it was honestly hard to imagine something stranger than giant robot cats on the lawn. Sure, the news talked about some kind of incoming invasion, but nobody had seen any ships, nobody had sent any pictures, and aside from astronomy becoming a very popular hobby worldwide, life seemed to go on pretty much as before.

Lieutenant Lovac and her team had chosen Marco. He lived alone, on a schedule that made him relatively isolated from the rest of his family, and communicated with said family relatively infrequently – about once a week or so. He could be taken with the least risk, and the least possibility of raising an alarm.

Marco would have been stunned – and quite probably terrified – to realize his new neighbors in the apartment across the hall were seven foot tall, purple-furred, yellow-eyed aliens intent on kidnapping him to use as leverage against his little brother.

Given he’d liked the neighbors he _had_, Marco would likely be just as terrified to find out what had happened to said neighbors the night the galra had moved in.

~*~

The isle of Apolima had never had many people on it, and even in the crowded modern age had less than a hundred fifty.

Lieutenant Zamke was prepared to hate it. Firstly because it had taken forever to _find_ the damn thing, and secondly because, _being_ a remote volcanic island with a tiny population, it was particularly difficult to maintain covert surveillance in a way that kept his strike team hidden from the locals.

How the _hell_ had a Paladin of Voltron come from somewhere so _isolated_?

He’d already decided to hell with taking a single hostage. The island was self contained and not particularly populated. When the order came down, he’d take _everyone_. All of them. Possibly everyone on the nearest populated island too. There would be more than enough room, and the druids could pick and choose.

~*~

The druids handled interrogations. Any human that tried to argue or reason or otherwise _talk_ their way out of being a prisoner got diverted to the druid ships.

These were not Champions. For the most part, they were easy to ensnare. And those that could be, were, and marked to be sent back to Earth. Mobs needed members, after all. She took her time over the more strong-willed ones, testing them for potential. Mobs needed leaders and enforcers, too. Some of these didn’t even need to be broken, just reinforced in their beliefs. Some of the best were, inexplicably, found on the space stations. Haggar sent an order to Sendak to send a few technicians to those paper stations to boost their broadcast range. The voices she found would serve very well, provided they could reach their desired audiences.

~*~

Commander Pametna quite enjoyed her post. The Holt family, separated in the past, was easily the most protected paladin family now. The son was protected by the Empire-of-old and the Coalition fleet. The father and mother were tucked away in the Southwest Garrison, and never left the grounds.

Pametna did not mind this, though her orders were to pick one to capture if at all possible.

She didn’t intend to _capture_ either of these very dangerous humans. Sendak’s orders were not lightly disobeyed, but Pametna knew what the fleets were doing here. This wasn’t conquest. This was vengeance. Vengeance for an empire stolen. But even if it hadn’t been, Pametna knew within vargas of observation that _this_ family of humans were far too dangerous to _capture_. This family of humans had been quite literally scattered across the universe. It had survived the Arena and imprisonment because men like Sendak had thought they could be _useful_.

Sometimes, Pametna knew, captives were just too fucking _smart_ to keep imprisoned. Smart enough to break out, or manipulate others into breaking them out. That was her assessment of the Holts.

She wasn’t going to go for the capture. Not this time.

Pametna spent her time looking for clean sight-lines. The Holts never left the compound, but they _did_ go _outside_.

When the order came down to strike, Pametna intended to go for the kill.

~*~

Sendak had more on his mind than the crushing of the human race.

Galra had almost never been out here. A few scout ships, that was all. The reports were vague and largely dismissive; no interestingly advanced races – thus no interesting battles – and natives that would likely require extermination rather than subjugation.

On the _other_ hand, galra that got assigned to duties like ‘explore the far reaches’ usually didn’t get the job because they were thorough and attentive to small details.

The cruisers assigned to transporting the captives to potential new colonies were bringing back reports that indicated the humans were by no means alone out here. There _were_ other races – signs of them, at least. Trails in space dust, occasional runs in planet or asteroid surfaces indicating a crash.

Earth would have had to deal with its not-aloneness pretty soon even if the Blue Lion _hadn’t_ been there. But who _were_ these others, and – more importantly – _where_ were they? Sendak had no chance of building even a small kingdom out here if the locals were powerful. And as much as the pain he was going to cause the paladins amused him, he’d hoped for more than just a last clawswipe to their collective balls in coming here.

Unfortunately, vague signs were all he had to go on. The overseers for the new slave colonies were provided with beacons in case of a surprise attack, and given orders that defensive structures were to be given priority. That was all he could do, at the moment.

Voltron was coming.


	4. Sight Unseen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Paladins arrive at Earth. There's parties, and questions, and very likely some galra wishing they had neuralyzers.

Allura and Coran stood on the floor of the docking bay. Both were wearing full Altean court finery, which made Allura radiate sheer dignified royalty and Coran radiate ‘fashion disaster’. Lotor, in full imperial regalia – which for galra was still basically ‘military dress uniform’ - stood nearby.

Nobody minded. The touch of formality was all that kept anyone from crying.

“We know you need to protect your home,” said Allura gently. “We know what it means to lose it, and we would never wish you to know that pain. But please….when you’ve made sure your home is safe, and Sendak and Haggar are defeated...come back to us. Bring Earth with you.”

“We will, princess,” said Shiro solemnly. Like the others, he had his paladin armor on for this farewell. It seemed appropriate.

“The Balmerans gave me a big crystal,” said Hunk. “We should be able to reach the relays with it.”

“A battleship class crystal should prove sufficient,” Lotor agreed. “I have communications records from previous missions to that system.”

“You’ll watch over Matt for me, right?” asked Pidge, watching Allura.

“And for me,” Lance agreed. “He’ll be the only human out here for a while.”

Allura smiled and nodded. “I believe he will be my primary liaison to the Coalition forces,” she said. “I will know very quickly if he needs any assistance.”

Lotor stepped in, then, silently joining the group. “Earth may yet be devastated by Sendak and Haggar,” he said. “Other than letting you all go, with my blessing, there is nothing I can do to help you. There are still several worlds here that are under Fire of Purification control, and my forces are still being converted to unprocessed quintessence even as Altean castleships are still under construction. But I would not have Earth think the galra empire is their enemy. When this is over, present this to your world’s leaders.” He held out a holocrystal. “It is a personal offer of aid, to rebuild whatever Sendak destroys, and an invitation to join the empire, or ally with us through the coalition, at their preference.”

Shiro took the crystal carefully. “We’ll see this gets into the right hands,” he agreed. Keith slanted a Look at him which he answered with a slight shake of his head; Lotor meant well, and now was not the time to tell him the planet was hardly unified.

There wasn’t really anything else to say; if anyone started talking about how much people would be missed, someone would start crying and they probably wouldn’t get going at all. Hunk and Lance both looked like if they were asked to say anything else, they’d start crying _anyway_. So, Shiro went to Allura and gave her a hug, gestured Keith should do the same – which he did, though a little awkwardly – and this was the cue for Pidge, Lance, and Hunk to do the same. Allura had to give Hunk pointed taps with her fingers to please let her go so she could breathe; not many ribcages in the universe were sturdy enough for a full Hunk Bearhug.

The paladins then filed up into the castleship, which had been stripped down to a barebones crew – the three alchemists to man the teludav, and a small engineering crew whose main job would be to teach humans about castleships. The rest of the crew remained at central command, to serve as Princess Allura’s staff and personal guard until one of the new castleships were ready to fly.

Allura watched what really was her _home_ gently lift off and fly out to its wormhole with tears in her eyes. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the paladins to bring it back. It was simply that – well. It was her _home_, the last shard of Altea, where she had been raised, and where she had slept through the centuries, waiting for the Lions to return.

Lotor was wise enough not to try to engage her in conversation or make pointless gestures of understanding. He simply waited, silently, for her to be ready to move on to the rest of the day’s business.

~*~

The flight was short, from the paladins’ perspective. Wormholes had that effect. One minute they were in sight of central command, and the next that view had been replaced by Jupiter’s familiar Red Spot storm, and several of its moons, and in the distance, the bright blue dot of Earth growing perceptibly larger as they approached.

“Home,” said Hunk, and there was an aching longing in the word that roughened his voice.

“Mom,” said Pidge, and while she clearly missed her mother, her tone suggested she was missing her mother despite being well aware her mother was probably going to yell herself hoarse.

Lance said nothing. Unlike the other two, he’d _been_ home recently, knew exactly how it felt, and was trying to keep some degree of control over himself.

Keith just looked to Shiro. The two of them were not homesick, because Earth wasn’t really _home_ to either of them any more. But there _was_ unfinished business waiting for them, and while it needed doing, it also needed to not intrude on the time the other paladins needed.

On the viewscreen, the bright blue pearl of Earth was growing larger, closer. Its Moon could be seen now.

Shiro said, “When we’re a bit closer we’ll take the Lions out. You’re each welcome to take your Lions and fly home to see your families, and we’ll leave the castleship in orbit for now. The galra could turn up at any time, though, so make sure if the castleship or the Garrison sends an alert, you’re somewhere you can hear it. We’ll meet at the Garrison at noon tomorrow, and you’re welcome to bring your families. I’ll take care of the initial debriefing.”

Keith frowned at that, and put a light hand on Shiro’s arm, questioning.

Shiro turned his arm to turn Keith’s gesture into a mutual clasp of hand and arm, and gave him a smile. “Your mother will want to see where you’ve been,” he said. “And your father’s grave. You two should have that private time. I’ll be sleeping on the castleship, so you can find me here when you’re ready.”

Keith knew better than to ask questions like _are you sure_. So he just nodded. “We’ll come back here,” he agreed.

“Well, I won’t,” said Lance. “Miss grandma’s cooking? I don’t think so.”

“I won’t be in any shape to come back tonight either,” Hunk agreed. “I mean I’m sure the folks will want a tour, but that can wait. I want my own bed and an ocean breeze and kopai and panikeke and my _family_.”

Pidge grinned. Having seen her family most recently she had the least homesickness, even if it had been a few years. “I’m probably going to be hugged, then grounded, and then debriefed with extra foot tapping,” she said. “We’re all two years older than our families would be expecting, remember.”

Lance just blinked. “I forgot about that. I’m almost the same age as Veronica now.” He stared off into space, thinking about it. “...Huh.”

Hunk shook his head. “Two years’d never catch me up to Ginj,” he said, but not as if it mattered – simply relaying mathematical fact. “But man. The little ones won’t be so little anymore.” He bit his lip, clearly trying not to cry until he at least got home.

Merla was on teludav duty and interjected with, “Where would you prefer we orbit?” in a calm, humans-be-weird tone.

Shiro smiled. “Do you want to see Earth for yourself?” he asked.

Merla blinked. “At some point,” she conceded. “This seems to be a very personal moment for you five though. We can wait.”

Shiro thought that over. He knew what would _happen_, of course. He’d done this little trip before, in a different ship. There was going to be a _monumental_ debriefing as _every_ question that couldn’t be sent over an insecure channel got asked, on both sides. Adding the alteans to the mix wouldn’t help that at all. He wasn’t even sure how to break it to the Garrison that Keith was half galra, though he knew Keith well enough to suspect Keith had already come up with something. “That may be best,” he conceded. “Okay, well, for now, I guess hold an orbit over North America – that’s that continent, there. That’ll let the Southwest Garrison get a good view through telescopes, without them bombarding you with a ton of questions. Keith and I will be back tonight and we can discuss things in the morning.”

Merla just nodded. Of the three alchemists Allura had chosen for the castleship, she tended to be the most reserved. She clearly had Thoughts about all this – but just as clearly felt _now_ was not the time to share them.

Earth filled the viewscreen now, familiar continents and island chains under swirling clouds.

Shiro opened a channel. “Castle of Lions to Galaxy Garrison. This is Takashi Shirogane, pilot of the Kerberos mission and Paladin of the Black Lion of Voltron. Anyone awake down there?”

Lance snorted with laughter – it wasn’t that the line was funny so much as the tension in the room seeking some kind of release. Hunk chuckled a bit too.

“_Castle of Lions,”_ came Sam Holt’s amused reply, _“It’s the middle of the afternoon down here, some of us have jobs. Of course we’re awake. Colleen says hello, and also get Katie down here pronto because her mother would like a Word with her.”_

Pidge groaned. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she grumbled.

“Expect the Black and Green Lions shortly, then,” said Shiro. “We’ll handle the debriefing.”

There was a silent pause before Sam’s voice returned with, _“Only Black and Green?”_

“The others would like to reunite with their families too, Sam,” said Shiro mildly. “We’ll do a full meeting tomorrow. After they’ve had time to get reacquainted.”

Again that long pause that suggested Sam was having conversations with others near him. _“Fair enough. We’ll see you soon. Garrison out.”_

“That was odd,” said Keith mildly.

“We’ll find out what it is soon enough,” said Shiro. “Paladins, to your lions. Go hug your mothers. I’ll see you at the Garrison at noon tomorrow.”

He didn’t need to tell them twice. Pidge ran out at a quite respectable speed, with Lance only barely behind her. Even Hunk was wasting no time. Keith was last, and more than willing to walk – Krolia wasn’t far, after all – but Shiro caught Keith by the arm once they were the last two humans on the bridge. “Just a moment.”

Keith turned to Shiro, watching him curiously.

“Still shaking things off, inside,” Shiro observed. “I thought so. Look, it’s going to be really busy for a while. Even sharing a room, we might not get a chance to talk much for a bit. So I want to say this now.”

“...O...kay?” said Keith, frowning a bit.

Shiro smiled at the dubious worry. Keith _was_ getting better, it was just slower than he’d hoped for. He cupped Keith’s cheek with his human hand. “I just want you to remember two things, Keith. I love you. And I forgive you.”

Keith blinked at that. “...Forgive me?”

“You’ll understand later,” said Shiro. “I’m not sure when, but when you do, remember I said that. Now, your mom’s probably waiting. I’ll see you tonight.” He let Keith go, with a light caress that Keith leaned into even though he clearly wasn’t happy about what Shiro had said.

He’d get it in time, Shiro knew now. Krolia was right; reality was reasserting itself. Which meant sooner or later Keith would realize it hadn’t been real, that he _was_ home and ‘his’ Shiro was _this_ Shiro, and that Keith’d been tricked into betraying him by Haggar’s magic. Shiro understood very well how that realization would feel. And odds were he wouldn’t be able to be right there when that moment hit Keith. So Shiro was saying it now, in the hope that when that moment came Keith would remember the words and maybe, _maybe_, it would hurt less.

For now, Keith left a light kiss in Shiro’s palm – the sort of gesture he only ever made when the only witnesses wouldn’t talk – and headed off to find Krolia and Cosmo.

Merla just gave Shiro a steady look. “I will monitor the communications console,” she said. “Send word when it’s time to land.”

“If I still have a voice left,” said Shiro dryly.

~*~

The galra stared at the screen, stunned.

“...They don’t see us?” asked one of the bridge techs.

“They are not looking for us,” said Sendak, darkly smug. “They are focused on what is ahead, not what is behind.”

The comm crackled to life as the strike teams, one by one, reported a Lion had landed and asked for orders.

Sendak’s reply was the same, every time. “Hold position. Confirm your targets are important to the Paladin, but do not strike. Wait for the Paladin to leave. I want them to know they could have stopped this but never thought to try.”

Commander Pametna was the only one to argue. _“General. These humans are dangerous. Giving them more time to confer is a risk.”_

“Hold!” growled Sendak. “I agree with your assessment, but surprise is critical. You will strike on my command _only_. If any of you can be close enough to overhear any plans, do so, but do not risk your cover for it.”

Haggar chipped in with, “They do not see us because we are masked,” she said. “This cloud of debris hides us from a casual scan until we choose to move.” She turned to Sendak. “The pawns are placed. Their welcome will not be as warm as they would like.”

Sendak gave a little growl, deep in his throat. The witch’s plan was a good one. He had to admit that. It would leech at the paladins’ joy and then extend their suffering, and he _approved_ of that. But it demanded a great deal of him as well. Galra could hunt and stalk, but when oblivious prey was _right there_, it was hard, very hard, to sit on the urge to pounce and rend.

~*~

Lance’s family wanted to know, first of all, what happened to his relatively little red lion and why he was now in a bigger, chunkier blue one. And then, secondly, how he’d grown _this much_ in the past two years, and he then had to explain that for him it was more like four, and this segued into a McClain Clan Block Party with lots of food and lots of drink and a great many hugs and Lance not getting quite as much food _or_ drink as he would’ve liked owing to all the explaining he had to do.

Hunk’s family was rather better about their priorities. There was an island-wide feast, a great deal of ooh’ing and ahh’ing over the Yellow Lion, and nobody asked Hunk _anything_ until he’d had his fill of said feast. And _then_ they peppered him with questions and asked for rides on and in the Lion and made sure his mug was never empty because hoarse people aren’t as much fun to listen to.

~*~

Keith and Krolia took Red out to the desert shack. While Keith did some maintenance on the skimmer so they could take it to the church graveyard where his father was buried, Krolia studied the shack itself – Keith’s maps and markers, the use he’d made of the equipment his father had left behind. She could feel the grief-madness that permeated the little shack. It was no wonder Keith had no desire to stay here; loss was soaked into every board.

And then the skimmer was ready, and she put on a helmet and gloves to hide her nature and rode with Keith. The graveyard was a few hours away, but neither of them spoke until they were near enough to see the church.

“Why here?” Krolia asked carefully.

“The family he died saving went to this church,” said Keith quietly. “I remember them saying it was the least they could do. There was a ...sort of parade. Gun salute. Somebody played a trumpet, or something...at the end they took the flag off the coffin and gave it to me. I lost it later. One of the foster parents set fire to it.”

He set the skimmer down outside the cemetery and got off. “It’s this way.”

Krolia followed him quietly, until he stood in front of a weathered headstone. He bent to clear the leaves off of it, used a towel to brush moss off. “Whenever I was fostered near enough I’d come at least once a year to clean off the headstone,” he said. “But it’s been a while since I could.”

Krolia didn’t seem to be listening. She got down on her knees before the headstone, tugging off a glove to trace the letters of the name with her claws. She was still, silent, for several moments.

Then she took off the helmet, tilted her head back, and gave a sort of screaming, roaring howl that reverberated through the air. Keith was only startled for a moment; the grief and loss in the sound were obvious. This was what his mother had needed; tangible proof that her mate was gone.

She put the helmet on again when the scream was done, bare hand on the headstone, and cried. After a few moments Keith moved to kneel next to her, an arm around her shoulders. It wasn’t that he didn’t grieve too, it was just that for him the loss was a much older loss. He understood. As the minutes became hours, he realized...he understood _perfectly_.

~*~

Pidge was hugged hard by her mother once she got out of the Lion, and hugged back just as hard. It was worrying – no, _frightening_ – just how much Colleen had aged in the few years she’d been away, the stress of her entire family being _gone_ with no explanation taking its toll.

Colleen noticed Pidge’s maturity too; she’d left a fifteen year old and returned at almost twenty. Pidge could look her mother in the eye now. And it mattered; Colleen didn’t once mention grounding her daughter, but she did _cry_ – she’d missed a lot of Pidge’s adolescence, and she was hurt by that.

She and Pidge talked for hours, in a private room only Sam dared enter – and even he only entered to bring boxes of tissues, or bottles of water. Colleen wasn’t debriefing her daughter so much as demanding a detailed summary of everything she’d missed. Not ten minutes seemed able to pass without a hug, or a light touch, as Colleen adjusted to the reality that her daughter was alive, well, _grown up_, and had survived relatively unscarred from experiences no human had ever dreamed of before.

~*~

Shiro stepped out of Black just as Pidge was being herded off by Colleen with a little aid from Sam. Adam and Iverson were waiting for him.

Shiro would never admit it, but he’d wanted it this way – to greet old friends alone. Or whatever it was Adam was now; neither had wanted to discuss anything over a long distance call. And their last talk – well, their last _fight_ – seemed a lifetime ago. Or maybe two.

Iverson got it started by offering Shiro his hand for a shake. “Welcome back,” he said. “You’ll be pleased to know Admiral Sanda’s been in the brig since Ryou took over, so no quarantines. You can tell your friends up there it’s safe to come down.”

Shiro nodded, looking around. Adam gave him a sour look. “Ryou died almost two weeks ago, Shiro. He couldn’t make it today.”

“Hrm, yeah,” rumbled Iverson. “I thought you two would be more alike, but you’re really not. Anyway. C’mon. Might as well get the debriefing done in comfort.”

He led the way inside, and Shiro asked, “No sign of the galra?”

“None so far,” Iverson agreed, Adam falling into step at his other side. “It’s causing some problems. Ryou put the profiteers and dividers up on the space stations. To ‘keep watch’, he said. Some of ‘em have recently figured out how to broadcast from there. If there’s a way to say ‘no galra here, sky’s clear’, believe me they’ve tried it at least once.”

“Profiteers and dividers,” said Shiro slowly. “So people still don’t believe the galra are real?”

“It’s more accurate to say opinion’s divided about twenty different ways,” said Adam neutrally. “There’s people that believe the galra are real, and people that don’t. There’s people that think we could negotiate with them, and people that are sure we can’t. There’s even a camp that thinks it’d be a friendly meeting and Ryou started all this to sieze power. The Garrison isn’t exactly a trusted resource.”

“You _did_ broadcast that I was dead and had killed Sam and Matt,” Shiro pointed out, just as neutrally.

“That was Sanda’s call,” said Iverson, before Adam could respond. “Sam and Colleen got the word out and Ryou kept Sanda from putting Sam in a cell for it. Kind of a little coup situation there. We’ve been busy since then though. We can probably protect at least seventy five percent of the planet from a direct attack.”

“Sam will probably want to inspect your luggage for crystals, though,” said Adam.

The three of them entered a conference room, and Iverson shut the door behind them. “Now for the _fun_ news. The negative voices have gotten louder since Ryou died. The people that thought this whole thing was a ruse to take power want that power given back now he’s gone. Problem is, if we do that, there’s no united front for when the galra _do_ get here. You have any idea when they’re coming?”

Shiro pursed his lips. “That’s the odd thing,” he admitted. “Sendak’s forces have all but vanished from galra space – and that’s most of the known universe. It seemed logical to think they were on their way here. Maybe we arrived first because we can wormhole. The galra don’t have that technology. But they also don’t have the technology to vanish the way they very clearly already _have_. So something’s definitely changed.”

“And we have to assume they’re coming here, because any other assumption leaves us off guard,” nodded Adam. “But you’re all here now too. I take it the giant robot cats are what this whole mess is about? They’re bigger than I thought they’d be.”

Shiro nodded. “Don’t underestimate Sendak. He’s broken with the Empire – who’ve sent a peace offer, by the way – but he was Zarkon’s most capable, most ruthless general.”

This got a pair of fairly blank stares. Shiro sighed. “Right. Insecure transmissions.” He spent the next few hours filling the other two in on events in the empire since Sam and Ryou had come to Earth. He finished with, “Hunk’s brought a big crystal that’s meant for _communications_. With it, we should be able to converse freely with the rest of the Coalition. And Matt’s sent a crystal with Pidge that will encrypt the transmissions. But they’ve got their hands full cleaning up the mess out there right now, so ...we’re all the help Earth will get for a while.”

“We’re going to have to brain Sam with a wrench,” grumbled Iverson. “Two big crystals and he can’t build a ship with either of them.”

“I think Hunk may have other crystals with him,” said Shiro. “He asked for whatever the balmerans were willing to give, and they like him. Hopefully it’ll keep Sam occupied.”

“The problem with that,” said Iverson, “is weapons have a way of getting stolen when they’re powerful enough. There’s people who’d pay top dollar for a gun that goes through any armor we’ve ever devised.”

Shiro nodded slowly, understanding. “And it’s in their self-interest to choose not to believe the galra are coming.”

“Or that the galra can be bought off with the Lions,” said Adam flatly. “That’s a story making the rounds lately, too. That this is all a war that’s nothing to do with Earth, and if we just make you five give up the Lions, the galra will leave us alone. You’re going to want to keep the Lions clear of Earth if you can.”

“They have their own defenses,” said Shiro. “I’m not really worried about that. The galra can try to take them, but there’s nothing on this planet that could force its way into a Lion.” He studied Adam. “All right. You’ve been closed off all evening. I know we didn’t part on the best of terms, but this feels like more than that. What’s the problem?”

“Problem_s_,” said Adam, emphasizing the plural. “Are you aware Keith is an alien?”

Shiro blinked. “...Yes,” he said. “Though I’m a little surprised _you_ are. He didn’t know himself, before we left Earth. Who was transmitting?”

“Krolia,” said Adam. “But that’s not how we know, and it’s not contained to the Garrison.” He tapped a few holographic keys over the conference table, and a display lit up. A recording of a news broadcast. “Some investigator or other took an interest in the ‘vanished cadets’ story. Tracked down an _anonymous_ source in the Garrison who leaked blood tests and physical results from when Keith was admitted here as a cadet. It’s really given Garrison credibility a black eye, that we not only had an alien here the whole time, we _trained_ him and he _turned_ on us.”

Shiro blinked. “Wait...so someone here knew _then_?” he asked. “And no one said anything?”

“Don’t look at me,” said Iverson. “This was classified at above _Sanda’s_ level. Need to know basis only. So either the joint chiefs decided it was time to publicize it, or there’s another traitor or three hiding in the ranks. Ryou did his best with this one, Shiro, but wherever the mole is, they’re hidden well.”

“Doubtful it’s the chiefs,” mused Shiro. “Giving the Garrison a black eye isn’t something they’d go for. My guess is someone farther down the chain, who needed money or had a grudge. So that’s out, then...what is it you want done about it?”

“We’re just informing you,” said Adam. “It’s lent weight to the argument that the Lions aren’t ours and we should turn them over to the galra. Keith won’t be welcome in secure meetings. We can’t confirm his loyalty.”

“Like hell he won’t,” said Shiro flatly. “He’s a paladin of Voltron. He’s fought for the freedom of planets you’ve never even _heard_ of. Even if he’s got no reason to love Earth – and you’re doing a great job convincing me he’s right not to – he’ll still fight to protect you, just like every other world we’ve fought for.”

“Shiro, you _know_ that’s not how it works,” said Adam tiredly. “I know he isn’t a traitor or a spy. But if _anything_ goes wrong – and it’s not like it’s been smooth sailing so far – Keith’s a textbook scapegoat and nobody needs that. It’s better to leave him out of this.”

“No, it’s not,” said Shiro, getting angry. “We’re a team. And he’s my second. He’s done nothing to deserve exclusion.”

“He broke into the Garrison a few years back,” said Iverson. “Assaulted several officers, stole their credentials, broke into a secure storage facility and back out again with a lot of stuff that _included_ classified intel.”

“For me,” said Shiro, jaw clenched. “He was getting _my_ things out of storage.”

“And classified intel,” said Adam, almost gently. “Shiro, it doesn’t matter how good his reasons were and you know that. The fact of the matter is, he _did_ it. And anybody who isn’t _completely_ familiarized with the circumstances is going to be up in arms that someone who _broke into_ the Garrison is then allowed to _walk_ in with complete access.”

Shiro gave Adam a glare that Adam returned with perfect equanimity. Adam said, more quietly, “I’m aware you two are a couple now, and I’m not going to pretend that even thinking about that doesn’t make me uncomfortable. But this isn’t about the ex being jealous of the new lover, Shiro. It’s about actions having consequences. He made his choices. He’s going to have to live with them.”

“We’ll record the meetings,” Iverson offered.

“No,” said Shiro. “You’re going to offer Keith amnesty. First. Before any meetings _happen_. The Garrison is going to admit that it was wrong to declare me dead in the first place, and it’s going to make clear to the general public that Keith was put into an untenable situation where the only thing he could do was go around you all. And then he _will_ be welcome at all strategy meetings, with the other paladins.”

Clearly, neither Adam nor Iverson had actually expected that response. They shared a look. “We’ll...take it up with the chiefs,” said Iverson slowly. “But either way this gives the Garrison another black eye, Shiro. They’re not gonna like that. Especially since the galra aren’t here, and you _are_.”

“Better now than in a crisis,” said Shiro levelly. “These aren’t cadets anymore, Iverson. All of them have seen and survived battles Earth has never conceived of. They deserve your respect. All of them do.”

“We could set it so it’s just you at the strategy meetings,” Adam began, and stopped when he saw Shiro’s expression.

“The only reason you’ve got me alone tonight is I had three paladins who haven’t seen their families in literal years,” he said. “Tomorrow they’ll be back at work. They’ll fight for this planet, put their lives on the line for this planet. That deserves respect. You’re in a very unhappy minority of worlds that hasn’t recognized that.”

“Minority?” asked Iverson. “So there’s others?”

“It’s a big universe,” was all Shiro would say about it.

“Let’s get done what we can, while we can, then,” grumped Iverson. “Ryou didn’t waste a minute once he was let out of quarantine. We’ve got a lot to catch you up on.”

~*~

Much, much later, Shiro rode Black up to the castleship. Adam had pointed out that he had rooms in the Garrison, but that was the last place he wanted to be. The castleship was home, now. And Shiro was _exhausted_.

He wasn’t particularly surprised to find Keith already in bed in their quarters, stretched out and against the wall, just as tired but waking quickly at the sound of the door opening.

There was a moment where their eyes met, and both of them realized they were both exhausted and neither really wanted to go into any kind of discussion of why. They just wanted, each of them, to take solace in the peace and quiet and the other’s embrace.

Shiro stripped down without a word, climbed into bed, and hugged and was hugged by Keith until both of them fell asleep.

~*~

Pidge stayed with her parents at the Garrison. Lance was in his old room in his parents’ house, marveling at how small his bed had gotten. Hunk got into his favorite hammock, evening sea breezes floating through his window.

The galra watched them all. And as Blue and Yellow launched skyward to join Green the next morning, two of those watching set their strike teams in motion.

Haggar and her druids could only shield one cruiser from detection, but one cruiser was more than enough. The moment Yellow was out of sight the strike team went into high gear. Most of the islanders were partied out from the festivities the night before and were easy prey. Soon enough the entire population had been scooped up.

In Cuba, Lieutenant Lovac had a harder time. Her target was only one of Lance’s family, but that one was in an apartment building, surrounded by other humans who might start an alert. She dealt with this by using a plasma knife to cut through the locks on Marco’s door silently, and her team had orders to subdue and capture any humans that saw them. Only one of the Paladin’s pack would be taken, but collateral prisoners were fine.

Marco was about as hung over as the rest of his family, and Hunk’s for that matter. He was barely aware of the galra woman bursting into his room to capture him. He was the lucky one, really, as Lovac hadn’t known about fire sprinklers or that the heat and smoke from using the plasma knife on the deadbolts would set them off. The entire building was taken prisoner; most had a lot more bruises than Marco got.

Getting the prisoners out of the building unseen, and into the cruiser, was the trickiest part. Marco lived in a city, surrounded on all sides by other humans. Taking _this_ entire island would not be possible to do without someone noticing immediately.

This, however, Lovac _had_ planned for. She just had to up the scale. Her squad – all wearing copies of hazmat gear, though nothing could be done to disguise their sheer size – used the rooftops (humans almost never looked up during daytime) to reach and acquire vehicles. Cramming a full sized galra into a human sized driver’s seat was unpleasant, but once the (bound and gagged) humans were rolled into blankets they could be loaded into the vehicles and driven out to a safe pickup site under the excuse of removing hazardous materials. As excuses went it was _terrible_, but the humans weren’t expecting galra kidnappers and so their theories as to what was ‘really’ going on were far afield of the truth.

Commander Pametna waited in tense silence for her orders. She watched Blue and Yellow arrive at the Garrison, their pilots blissfully unaware. She watched Red and Black descend from the sky to join them, the complete set. She ordered her team to take up assault positions. If possible she intended to take out the entire family – father, mother, and daughter. But she would wait for her order.

~*~

Four of the five paladins gathered at the feet of the Lions, waiting for the Garrison commanders.

Sam Holt arrived first, with Colleen and Pidge (in her green armor) beside him. The Holts collectively looked tired, but not uneasy; an accord of sorts had apparently been reached, and the family was unified. Standing next to Pidge, it was clear to see that his Garrison uniform had been altered to have green shoulders; Colleen wore a similar uniform, without any indication of rank on it.

Iverson was second, with four cadets in tow, following him like goslings after the mother goose. They lined up smartly as Iverson came to stand by Sam, studied the paladins with overt interest and in one case a scowl, and waited patiently. Iverson’s uniform had black shoulders, but the four following him had red.

Last was Adam; he also had red shoulders on his uniform, and came alone.

Keith, Lance, and Hunk all took their cues from Shiro; this was clearly some kind of formal hello. They waited with relaxed posture – not their usual, but the sort of specific relaxing prior to a fight, ready to draw bayards.

“...We’re going to begin this with a formal welcome to the paladins of Voltron,” said Iverson gruffly, and the tone hinted _and you’d better be welcoming_ at the cadets near him. “And in the spirit of that, we’d like you all to know that Shiro’s been reclassified as a living officer, and Keith’s been cleared of all charges relating to the, uh, _incident_ here a few months ago. In addition, it’s understood that the cadets who have become paladins have full Garrison officer status.”

Shiro gave Iverson a very small, approving nod. Lance and Hunk mostly looked relieved. Keith seemed to be either taking everything in or not paying attention at all, as his expression didn’t change, but one of the cadets behind Iverson now looked like the only reason he wasn’t causing trouble was there were a hell of a lot of armed officers present.

“We’ve got a _lot_ to go over,” said Sam. “But for now, we’ll take the most basic. Your...brother, Shiro, changed a bit of how the Garrisons are organized. You’ll note the changes in our uniforms. Red are combatants, fighters. Green are scientists. Yellow are support personnel. Blue are medical. Black are administration and command. Your brother felt this would help you know who to contact more quickly, and help the people of Earth relate to you when you arrived.”

Shiro’s expression became a neutral mask at mention of his ‘brother’. The paladins with him mostly seemed bemused at how their roles had been interpreted. Lance said, “You guys do realize I am in no way a doctor, right?”

“Allura was,” Sam pointed out. “And we didn’t know who’d be in which lion when you did arrive. Ryou thought categorizing Blue as healers would help people get over ...well. An alien.”

“Just so nobody thinks I can do first aid,” said Lance. “Cos I have to tell you, that’d probably end kinda badly.”

“And these four are the best fighters we have,” said Iverson, gesturing to the cadets with him. “We’ve had very little crystal to work with. What we _had_ has gone into the MFE fighters. These four are the pilots. James Griffin, Ina Leifsdottir, Ryan Kinkade, and Nadia Rizavi.” He indicated each of them in turn. “Griffin’s their leader.”

Griffin gave Keith a _you’d better remember it_ look; again, Keith either didn’t care, or wasn’t paying attention. The other three pilots _did_ notice and care, they just seemed to have no idea what was going on there.

Adam said, “I run the training program for all the new equipment. Ryou brought a lot, but Earth just doesn’t have a lot of what seems to be needed for a fighting force that can stand up to the galra. We’re hoping you can help there.”

“I brought some crystals,” Hunk agreed. “But the big one’s for communications. Me and Pidge will get on building a station that can use it. Once it’s up and running, Earth will be able to contact the balmeras directly. And the Coalition fleet. You won’t be so alone.”

“We’ve got the beacons?” said Adam, confused. “We’ve been in touch. Matt Holt’s been keeping us apprised.”

“Those beacons are a single thread across an incredible distance,” said Shiro. “And if even one got taken out – ion storm, random asteroid, passing ship, anything – the whole line’s dead until it can be replaced. What Hunk’s talking about is a much more stable and secure connection. Something defensible.”

“We’ll get on it,” said Sam. “There’s no telling how much time we do – or don’t – have.”

“Speaking of,” said Colleen, to the general surprise of the other Garrison personnel present, “Where is your mother, Keith?”

Keith blinked at her. “On the castleship,” he said. He paused a moment, considering clarification. “...We weren’t sure how she’d be welcomed.” _Or if._

Shiro slanted a look at Keith; he could, somewhat to his surprise, clearly sense that Keith had given a truthful answer, but not an honest one. Krolia wasn’t sure of her welcome at the Garrison, but that wasn’t the reason she hadn’t come today.

“So you _are_ a galra,” said Griffin flatly. “Do they look so much like us then?”

“No,” said Keith. And then – to the worried surprise of the other paladins – he shifted. His paladin uniform hid most of it, but his skin turned lilac, and his fingers ended in fine claws.

And his eyes were solid shining yellow fields. The paladins knew they hadn’t been that way before. But Keith seemed not to know; he simply said, “Galra look more like this. Only usually bigger. I’m still growing, they tell me.”

He shifted back, and Lance coughed. “Little warning next time, okay buddy?”

Lance wasn’t the only one who’d been derailed. For a moment the whole group seemed to have forgotten what they were doing out there. For some it was their first sight of a galra. For others, it was the specific change in Keith.

Colleen cleared her throat. “I see. Please tell your mother I have the research she requested.”

“Can your mother…?” Iverson trailed off, gesturing at Keith to indicate the shifting.

“Not for long,” said Keith. “A few minutes maybe. She’s not going to -”

But what it was she wasn’t going to do didn’t get said. All at once, all three Holts stumbled. Both Colleen and Sam had dark spreading stains on the fronts of their uniforms, dropping with pained, openmouthed expressions to their knees. Pidge dropped to the ground – not in a deliberate manner, but as if she’d been shoved.

“Take cover!” snapped Shiro, extending his cybernetic arm to fill it with energy. “Hunk – get the Holts to the castleship _now_!”

Keith snapped to Lance, “Cover me!” and ran off at full galra sprinter speed for the origin of the shots – or at least his best guess to them. Lance dove behind a transport for cover and summoned his bayard rifle.

Pidge, on the ground, managed a “...what?”

Hunk grabbed Colleen and ran for his Lion, the big yellow head already dipping to take him in. Shiro grabbed Sam with his human arm, carrying him over his shoulder to Yellow’s mouth. Iverson, to his credit, stood over Pidge with his sidearm drawn, looking for a target. The four MFE cadets instinctively obeyed Shiro’s order to take cover, but Rizavi called, “What’s _happening_?”

  



	5. Scrambling in the Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two of the genius Holts have just been shot. Krolia is emotionally unstable from grief. Keith's still not himself. And the MFE pilots really are not impressed.
> 
> The devil's in the details.

Yellow was the slowest Lion, but it was also the most protected Lion, and Hunk was...if not the strongest Paladin, then at least a close second. (Actually sorting out the ranking between himself, Shiro, and Keith would have been getting rather more competitive than Hunk had ever felt comfortable being.)

But Hunk urged Yellow to go as fast as it could, with two elderly Holts bleeding out in the Lion’s mouth. He called the castleship as the Lion ascended: “_Yellow coming in hot – get some stretchers or emergency medical staff to Yellow’s bay fast as you can. Green’s parents are dying.”_

Tavo, it seemed, was on bridge duty; at least, it was his startled voice that replied, “_Medical emergency, Yellow bay. Roger.”_

Hunk tried not to wonder who’d taught alteans to say ‘roger’ as he saw the castleship in the distance. He knew perfectly well he was thinking about it to avoid thinking about the increasingly large pool of blood in his Lion and how could he _possibly_ get these two into a pod in time and God what about Pidge.

But alteans respected and valued life, for the most part. When Yellow thundered into its bay, lowering its head and opening its mouth to let Hunk bring out the wounded, there were already a dozen of the barebones crew waiting – with medical pods, and some kind of rigging that let them be portable? Hunk didn’t really have time to examine them closely. He picked up Colleen and handed her over (_too light, too light, her body’s too light_) and then Sam, and sat down hard to let the shaking work its way out of his system while the medical pods were wheeled away at speed to their usual, fully-powered nooks.

He didn’t realize Tavo had stayed until the altean put a hand on Hunk’s shoulder. “We’ll do everything we can,” he said. “Do you want any help cleaning up the Lion?”

“Uh. Yeah,” Hunk decided. He knew he was not going to go back down until he had _something_ he could tell Pidge. Pidge did not deal well with vague responses. “...They can be saved, right?”

Tavo could only shrug. “Merla’s the strongest of the three of us,” he said. “But she’s asleep right now. If she can help, I’m sure she will. In the meantime, the medical pods will at least keep the situation from getting worse.”

Hunk frowned. If they were already dead, he was pretty sure a medical pod wouldn’t do squat. But he had to admit, they’d never actually _tested_ that.

~*~

Keith had definitely startled _somebody_, charging off the way he did. Shots hit the dirt and the paved road and sidewalks, but were clearly wild shots with little chance of ever hitting anything. Lance took up a position behind a car, his bayard turning to a sniper rifle as he took aim in basically the direction the shots seemed to come from. He focused on what he could see through the scope – just flickers of movement at first, in a distant window, but he took a few shots anyway just to see if he could flush whoever it was out into the open. It would at least give Keith more time to close the distance if the other sniper had to take cover.

He vaguely heard everyone else taking cover or reaching for weapons, but he had a job to do and he’d catch up later. Someone had shot at Pidge, and Lance was angry enough about that to figure that if Keith caught them first, they were luckier than they had a right to be.

~*~

Shiro stood over Pidge, at first, his cybernetic hand glowing with energy. But the shots were wild and Lance and Keith had whoever it was occupied. So he let the glow fade and bent to help Pidge to her feet, checking for wounds as he pulled her to where the Garrison crew had taken cover. “You okay?”

“I don’t know,” said Pidge, shaken. “Mom? Dad?”

“Hunk took them to your ship,” said Iverson, gruff but not unkind. “Turn around, Ms. Holt. We’ve got to see if you’re wounded.”

“She’s not,” Rizavi chimed in. “Look. Just a sort of burn mark on her armor.”

“Good armor,” Kinkade approved.

Adam frowned. “I haven’t seen burn marks like that before.”

“I have,” said Shiro. “That was a galra rifle.” He helped Pidge get out of the armor, so he could check for broken bones, internal bleeding.

Her mind was definitely not on her own problems. She looked up at the sky, and the vanishing dot of the Yellow Lion. There was a set look to her features that suggested that Sendak would regret making things this personal for her. But she let Shiro pat her down and carefully poke at her, growling a bit absently as he hit the new bruise where the blast had impacted.

“_Galra_ rifle,” Iverson said. “We haven’t got any galra rifles...” He stopped, trailing off as his brain registered what his mouth was saying. “They’re _here_? But – Ryou said _cruisers_. Armadas of fighters.”

At mention of the galra, the MFE pilots were now scanning the sky. Shiro helped Pidge back into her armor.

“Clearly, Sendak decided to change his approach,” said Shiro shortly. He tapped his helmet. “Keith. Report.”

“_Three at least,”_ came Keith’s absent, distracted voice. “_I have the trails – this was an ambush. Meeting paths. They were waiting for a clean shot at Pidge and her family, I think. The group’s running north.”_

Lance, Shiro, and Pidge listened; Pidge’s expression contorted and suddenly Shiro was busy holding her back. “Their ship’s got to be hidden that way,” she snapped. “Let me _go_. We’ve got to nail them before they can get back to their cruiser!”

Iverson gestured to the MFE pilots; as one, they nodded and broke cover to run for the hangar. Adam said, “We know the terrain here better than you, paladins. Go high, and we’ll go low.”

“You stay and get the sniper,” Shiro said to Lance, who just waved them off, not looking away from his rifle scope.

“Got ‘em pinned down,” Lance said. “If I can keep ‘em from rejoining their group we might be able to get answers out of them later.”

Shiro nodded, and then let Pidge go to run for Green as he headed for Black.

~*~

Keith felt...strange. Not bad, certainly, but different. He’d never stayed ‘galra form’ long before. He’d never had much to make comparisons with. He knew that to galra eyes, central command was brilliantly lit and full of color, but that was _nothing_ compared to what galra senses made of Earth, or an active hunt.

He’d hunted this desert before. After Kerberos, before the Lions. He remembered the careful work of spotting trails in the dry earth, finding random prints in pockets of moisture-dampened ground. But here, now, it was as if the galra strike team had painted big neon arrows on the ground pointing the way. He could see the trail clearly, practically _smell_ them. They weren’t familiar with Earth, or this desert. Keith was.

He was gaining on them. They weren’t trying to hide, not now – not really. They were focused on getting back to their unit.

The Garrison was surrounded by open desert, in part for security purposes and in part because putting cadets near aircraft and other large vehicles tended to necessitate a buffer zone between their education and civilization. Keith didn’t really think about it, as he ran after the snipers, but later he would be glad of that buffer. Glad, in particular, that no humans had witnessed a galra on the hunt in a red paladin uniform.

Particularly when he caught up to the prey and found them wearing human-style camoflage and hoods to hide their nature. Sword and Blade at the ready, Keith for the moment thought only of the fight and sprang at his targets.

~*~

Pidge was on the hunt too, but there was no predatory joy in it for her. Her mind was full of the confused surprise on her parents’ faces, the blood spreading across their uniforms as they dropped, apparently unaware even as they bled that they were dying.

The Green Lion _thundered_ into motion, the metal paws indenting the earth. She would fly, soon, but for now she wanted that strike team. She wanted to bite into their ship and rip it apart. _They had hurt her family_.

Above, Black flew. Between them, four planes in formation, spread wingtip to wingtip, the MFE pilots apparently shadowing Keith in his bright red armor, then using his course as a guide for forward searches. There would be a ship, somewhere here.

~*~

From the edges of the solar system, Sendak and Haggar watched.

“She was warned,” said Sendak mildly, as Keith caught up to the fleeing strike team. Neither Sendak nor Haggar were particularly surprised to see the little halfbreed tear the strike team apart.

“Humans protect their own,” rasped Haggar. “Are the others in place?”

“Zamke and Lovac both became overzealous during their wait,” said Sendak. “And the humans _all_ claimed to be the relatives of the paladins. They’re separating out the true from false by scan at the moment. The surplus will be scattered among the new work camps.”

Haggar watched with half-closed eyes as the hidden fighter was discovered by the Green Lion, and ripped apart like a cat shaking limbs off a corpse. “Perhaps it would be better to keep them,” she mused. “How many dear ones were acquired?”

“One precious to the Blue,” said Sendak. “Lovac got that part of the plan correct. Six precious to the Yellow.”

“And the Green are now out of our reach,” finished Haggar. “But likely weigh heavily on that paladin’s mind. Scatter the Yellow Paladin’s precious kin as widely among your ships as you may. Different groups. The longer it takes the Yellow Paladin to track them down, the better this maneuver will serve you.”

Sendak nodded slowly. “I wish to send Lovac to acquire the rest of the Blue Paladin’s kin. I would take their castleship, but that would corner them. I suspect they would prove more courageous if cornered.”

“Not all are acquirable,” said Haggar. “One is in the Garrison already.”

Sendak shrugged. “Lovac reports he has a large family unit – the better to shield my cruisers with.”

Haggar nodded. “As you desire, General,” she said, retreating.

~*~

In the end, the only member of the galra assassin squad to be captured alive was the one Lance had kept pinned down with his rifle. Adam took the galra prisoner – via use of repeated stun blasts – with Lance covering him. Keith guided the Garrison officers in choosing and applying restraints, and she sat in a very uncomfortable position in an empty locked room.

Iverson regarded the galra woman thoughtfully. “I see what you meant about ‘bigger’, Keith,” he said.

Keith, reverted back to his human form, shrugged. “She’s not exactly tall for a galra woman. Bigger than my mom though. The men are usually a lot bigger. Sendak’s definitely a lot bigger.”

“Those are ties meant to hold aircraft down in a windstorm,” grumbled Iverson.

“She’d snap right out of all your civil restraints,” Keith said with flat certainty.

“Nice job catching her,” said Griffin to Lance. “The others were all killed.”

There was a decidedly snarkish tone to that; Griffin didn’t think much of Keith taking down four galra soldiers, instead of taking them prisoner.

Lance didn’t rise to the bait. “The others wouldn’t have helped us,” he said firmly. “They’d only have tried to help _her_.” He nodded to the one in the cell. “Or Sendak, if they’d have gotten back to him.”

“We’ve got a salvage crew out there right now,” said Adam. “Taking apart what’s left of that fighter. Ryou had us work with galra technology. We can use that fighter’s crystal and weapons.”

“I’ll go help with that,” said Pidge. Her tone suggested she didn’t want to be near this galra until it was time to kill her.

“I want to know why the castleship didn’t spot it,” said Shiro. “And where its cruiser is and why we haven’t spotted _that_. There’s no way a group this small came this far to act alone. There’s more around.”

That got everyone’s attention. Keith said, “I’ll go with Pidge.”

“I’ll check with the castleship,” said Lance. “Catch Hunk up, see if there’s some way he can tweak its scanners.”

Iverson blew out a breath. “Years,” he grumped. “_Years_ we’ve spent getting ready….and it turns out they’re _here_. What _I_ want to know is – how _long_ have they been here?”

~*~

It was all over the news, of course. The galra had slipped past the lookouts, the expensive defense systems, and taken shots at the Garrison’s best scientists. How could Earth possibly be safe when it could take such hits in its most well defended places? How could Voltron protect Earth when it couldn’t protect its own loved ones?

Haggar was pleased. She had chosen her puppets well. And would gain more.

She and her druids had already taken up residence on Earth – not _all_ of the druids, of course, as Sendak needed some to conceal his ships and process his prisoners, but quite a few had come with Haggar to Earth. There were plenty of abandoned towns and villages where all they had to do was move in, really. Druids did not need much to survive. They could pull the quintessence out of any living thing; it rather reduced the need for food or water.

Ghost towns were best. Haggar’s puppets could arrange meetings, and the dilapidated buildings hid the quintessence tanks from easy discovery. There were many, all over the planet. Haggar did not need to be close to her people to speak to them, or control them. She could speak to them or control them from anywhere on Earth, anywhere in Earth’s galaxy, anywhere at _all_.

Humans only very, _very_ rarely showed actual real quintessence sensitivity. Of the tens of thousands already captured, only a handful were now being turned into the first formerly-human druids. Haggar did not mind this. Druids were tools to her, and as long as she had enough to do the task at hand she was fine. The rest were slaves to the darkness implanted within them, and would create and support the narrative Haggar demanded of them or die.

~*~

Keith went with Pidge back to the wreckage of the galra ship. Pidge wasn’t doing too well; one moment she’d be shaking and the next fine. It wasn’t herself she was worried about; Keith knew that much. She’d traversed the universe to bring her family back together only for them to almost die on their home planet, not two feet from her. She was trying not to think of them as dead, while at the same time trying not to get her hopes up too far. None of them really knew the limits of the medical pods, or if Hunk had gotten the Holts there in time.

Work was something she could apply her mind to. But it didn’t stop her snapping, “I could handle this myself, you know. The galra from this ship are captured or dead. I can handle myself.”

“I know,” said Keith simply. There _was_ a crew of Garrison personnel out here already, their trucks slowly being filled with parts salvaged.

Pidge stared at Keith until he said, “I came in case the reason we didn’t see this fighter was magic.”

Pidge’s mouth twisted. Her antipathy toward ‘magic’ was well known, and Keith’s relative sensitivity to it, undeniable. “Just don’t get in my way.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” said Keith calmly. The two Lions sat at either side of the wreckage, drawing the attention of the salvage crew. The red one drew most of their attention, it seemed; as Keith stepped out of Red’s mouth, the salvagers raised their tools as weapons.

“We don’t need _you_ fucking up a secure site,” said one. “Hiding galra secrets away.”

They didn’t get farther before Pidge drew their attention with, “Oh, come _off_ it,” snapped in a tone thoroughly out of patience with human Stupid. “Keith’s not your enemy. He’s here to help, same as I am, and we’ve got _no_ time for this bullshit. Get back to your work and leave him alone or you can deal with _both_ of us, and if I hear any more Stupid today I am going to _bite. it_. I don’t have time for it.”

Pidge alone was not intimidating. She’d grown, but she still wasn’t particularly tall, and she didn’t have the muscular build of a fighter because she wasn’t one. Most of the salvagers would have had no trouble physically picking her up, although they probably would have been very surprised at what happened _after_ that.

They didn’t get the chance, though, because when Pidge spoke of _biting_, the Green Lion’s head moved, pilotless, to glare at the salvagers, yellow eyes lit and flaring.

The group calmed right down then, spooked, and let the two paladins go over the salvage they’d gathered thus far, and poke in the wreckage that was left.

“Thanks,” Keith murmured as he picked apart a console.

“I’m just tired of the stupid,” sighed Pidge. “Any ping? There’s nothing new about this fighter. I’m surprised they all packed into it.”

“Yeah,” said Keith. “I can feel it. I mean, it’s...fading?” He thought about the word, then shrugged. “But there was something around this thing. For a while. Druid magic.”

“So Haggar’s people are here too, great,” grumbled Pidge. “Why though? It’s not like Earth is just bubbling over with quintessence. We had to have passed plenty of easier targets.”

“I thought the Blade of Marmora had kind of subverted the usual galra way,” Keith admitted. “Sticking to shadows and covert attacks. But what if they didn’t? Sendak has to _know_ that in a straight up fight we’d destroy his ships. So what if the Marmora way is just...how galra _deal_ with a superior force?”

Pidge winced. “I really hope not. Ryou spent his whole remaining life getting this place ready for a frontal assault. There’s _nothing_ for a -” she caught Keith’s very steady, frowning look. “Point taken,” she agreed, and looked around. “They’ve got pretty much anything useful on the trucks now. Efficient. We can probably pry this ship’s orders off it back at the Garrison.”

“They’re gonna need you, Pidge,” said Keith quietly. “Without your parents here, or Matt, there’s no one who can adapt to the new situation.”

Pidge frowned. “Shiro will handle it.”

Keith shook his head. “He doesn’t like covert ops, Pidge. He’s gonna need you.”

“My _family_ needs me,” Pidge snapped.

Keith stepped back, nodded. “He’ll make sure you have whatever you need. Just...remember he’s going to need you, too.”

~*~

Lance took Blue up to the castleship, turning over in his mind if this was something that really, he should call Allura to help with and call Matt to let him _know_ about. Allura was firmly ensconced in Lance’s understanding as the best and strongest alchemist, able to take on Haggar directly if she had to. And Matt...well. Matt might forgive his little sister not calling him immediately; he and Lance both knew Pidge was now aimed firmly at making sure this never, _ever_ happened again. But he might not forgive such an omission from Lance, and Lance could understand why.

No one was waiting for him when Blue settled in her bay, but there was a lot going on. He could go and find them, no problem there. He headed for the bridge as a first stop; if it was empty, at least he could call Matt from there.

He found two of the three alchemists assigned to the ship, and Hunk – well, half of Hunk. From the waist up, Hunk had disappeared into a console.

“Do I even want to know?” Lance asked.

“Those galra got down to the planet _somehow_,” said Hunk. “Fighters are short range. The cruiser’s _got_ to be in this solar system somewhere. But ship sensors aren’t picking up _squat_. So are we being jammed, or what?”

So much for catching Hunk up. “Keith went with Pidge to check the wreckage in case of magic,” Lance offered. “Maybe magic is it?”

The two altean alchemists turned to Lance. “We thought of that too, when Hunk told us about this,” said Tavo, the more awake of the two. “Luca’s on rest but I thought maybe the two of us could help if we worked together.”

Lance looked between them. Neither looked happy. “Aaaand that didn’t go so well,” he guessed.

Luca looked vaguely annoyed. “It’s magic,” she said. “But that’s all we can say. Haggar is very, very strong, and she has all her druids with her. They’re _here_ – but you know that already. Everything they did, they did to conceal their presence.”

Tavo had the grace to look embarrased. “So we’re not really much help.”

“What about the Holts?” asked Lance.

“They’re alive,” said Luca. “While their pods are safe and functional, they won’t die.”

Lance frowned. “Aren’t they supposed to, you know, heal them?”

Tavo made a gesture of helplessness, of surrender. “They were _barely_ alive when the pods were activated, paladin,” he said apologetically. “None of us are healers, not like the Princess. It could be phoebs before the elder Holts are released.”

“Assuming we don’t come under heavy fire from the hidden cruiser we now know is somewhere in this system,” Luca pointed out. “Their conditions are delicate.”

“So….what are you doing ass-deep in a console, Hunk?” asked Lance, in a very careful, ‘just curious’ tone.

“Trying to adjust our sensors to pick up _magic_,” grumbled Hunk. “It’s there. It exists. There’s got to be _some kind of way_ to detect it. If they come at this ship out of nowhere, Lance, before the shields are up, we lose the castleship. We lose the teludav, the lion bays, the whole thing.”

Lance took a deep breath. “No,” he decided. “Get out of there, and put the console back together.” He paused. “Not necessarily in that order.” He turned to the alchemists. “Look. We’ll be fine here on our own for a bit. Give us time to get the lions off, and you take this ship and the Holts back to Central Command. Get the Holts to Allura – she can help them, and for Pidge I know she would. Then take this ship to Olkarion and work with them to get a magic scan designed and installed. Once they work out _how_, they can put it in all the new castleships too. And when you’ve got that scanner, _then_ you come back here, okay? Allura trusted us with her _home_. We can’t protect it here right now. So we’ll send it back to her. We’ll focus on getting communications up here.”

The two alteans blinked at Lance uncertainly. “Are you sure?” asked Tavo.

Hunk finished his repair and got out of the console. “You sure Shiro’s good with this?”

“I’m sure Shiro would say the same if he were standing right here, yeah,” said Lance. He really _wasn’t_ sure. But he was sure that right now a decision needed to be made because _right now_ the castleship was a sitting duck. “He’s not, but I’ll tell him when we get back to Earth. If I’m wrong, well, you’ve got that bigass crystal for communications and that little one for encryptions and we’ll call the castleship back when it’s working.”

Hunk was never one to argue where arguing meant internal disharmony. He shrugged and put away his tools. “I’ll get back down to the planet then.”

“I’ll join you in a few ticks.” Lance turned to the alchemists. “I need to make a few calls. Give me the bridge for fifteen doboshes, then let me get Blue planetbound and off you go okay?”

Allura and Matt deserved to hear the decision and the news from him, before it smacked them in the face.

~*~

Shiro went into the Garrison with Iverson and Adam, checking on their prisoner the galra lieutenant. She seemed content to wait in her little cell, ears twitching at every passing sound.

“Can she hear us?” asked Iverson quietly.

“Probably,” said Shiro. “She won’t show it if she can. Too much of an advantage.”

“No kidding,” said Adam dourly. “Now that we’ve got her, how do we interrogate her?”

Shiro frowned at the commanders. “If you’re thinking about torture I’d say you’re going to have to be very creative to find something the Empire hasn’t already perfected,” he warned. “Pain isn’t going to cut it. She’s an officer. She wouldn’t _be_ an officer if she couldn’t take a punch. And anything else...” He shook his head. “We can’t let them make us as bad as they are. Fighting them on their terms just destroys us in different ways.”

“The rest of the planet may not agree with that level of idealism,” said Adam. “Fear of the galra has driven most of the things humanity’s done for the past few years. Now that they’re _here_...”

“No,” said Shiro firmly. “I won’t back it.”

“We do things your way or Voltron leaves?” asked Iverson bluntly. “There’s billions of people on this planet. You really think someone’s not going to think maybe we just shoot you five and hold tryouts?”

“I think if someone suggests that,” said Shiro slowly, “You should tell them that once the founding team broke up it took _ten thousand years_ for the lions to choose replacements,” said Shiro levelly. “The Blue Lion waited here for as long as our species has had _writing_, commander, if not longer. Didn’t budge until Lance came near. They’re picky. And more than capable of flying back to Allura with no pilot at all. Their maker sent them out into the universe with no pilots and she’s out of your reach, gentlemen. They’ll go back to her, if we fall here. I doubt she’d consider our species worth saving if it turns against itself like that.”

Iverson nodded slowly. His attitude made it clear he, personally, had no interest in harming any of the paladins, but was simply familiar with people who would. “Any way we can demonstrate that in advance?”

Shiro took a deep breath. Humans had no familiarity with the legend of Voltron, or of the Lions. Of course they’d be doubtful. “...Iverson,” he said tiredly, “the first idiot that thinks they can – for example – take over the Red Lion by removing the ‘galra’ pilot from our roster will discover exactly what the last lot that thought that discovered. Namely that there isn’t a stronghold on this planet that a Lion will not go through – without a pilot – to _recover_ its pilot. And they’re more than capable of raising personal defenses that no weapon on this world or even up in Sendak’s fleet can get through. I don’t recommend holding demonstrations. Just...don’t worry about it. Anyone stupid enough to try it will find out soon enough the hard way.”

Adam nodded just slightly toward the one-way window through which they were watching the prisoner. She looked thoughtful – proof enough she could hear them, and was digesting the discussion. Iverson nodded back, and nudged the other two to walk on. Once they had a few more doors between themselves and the prisoner, he said, “We’re gonna need to deal with that.”

Shiro almost said, _Keith would know_ – and then realized Keith _did_ know, and had already showed him what to do. “Play music,” he said. “In the corridor, or in her cell. Twenty four hour music, above conversational decibel level. Tell the guards to have fun picking songs. She shouldn’t be able to pick out any conversations over the sound.”

Adam smiled wryly. “Keith brought his music collection into space, I take it,” he said, catching on.

Iverson blinked, visibly reassessing previous events in new context. “Hnh,” he said. “Good idea. We can rig that pretty easily.”

“We need to respond to this attack,” said Adam. “And quickly. I take it there’s no target to aim at.”

Shiro tapped his helmet. “No word from Lance or Hunk,” he said. “So, probably not.”

Abruptly, the room became significantly more crowded as Krolia and Cosmo appeared. Krolia looked – well, as startled as the men, but with significantly faster reaction speed. Even as their startled minds registered ‘sudden galra’ and reached for their weapons, she threw a spinning kick that knocked the guns clear out of Iverson and Adam’s hands.

“Krolia?” asked Shiro, waving the two Garrison officers to stand down. “What happened? Is Lance all right? Hunk?”

Krolia blinked at him. “...I do not know,” she admitted. “I was meditating in my quarters when Cosmo appeared and then brought me here.” She looked down at the big wolf, who seemed rather pleased with himself, and then shrugged at Shiro.

Shiro tapped his comm. “Lance. Hunk. Report.”

“En route,” said Hunk.

“The castleship’s going to take the Holts back to Allura,” said Lance, his tone making it clear he was well aware his decisions might not meet with Shiro’s approval. “The alchemists can’t sense Sendak’s ships, _or_ Haggar’s magic in any useful way, and the castleship sensors aren’t picking anything up. It’s a sitting duck. And the Holts are in really delicate condition – the ship gets attacked, they probably die. So I sent them out of range. Allura will be able to help them, and the Olkari can upgrade the ship sensors.”

Krolia nodded, understanding. “Cosmo got me off the ship before it wormholed,” she said. Then turned to the two humans she hadn’t yet met. “...I am Krolia,” she said. “I am of the Blade of Marmora, allies of Voltron. I am Keith’s mother.”

Adam sat down _hard_, staring at Krolia as if he’d just been handed some big pieces to a very old puzzle. Iverson just studied her and grunted, “Hnh. Thought you’d be bigger.”

Krolia gave Iverson a steady look that told Shiro clearly that Krolia knew exactly why Iverson had only one good eye and was perfectly willing to deprive him of the other one if given cause. But what she said, in a steady, mostly polite tone, was, “My mate always spoke highly of the Garrison. He was known to be mistaken in his judgment at times.”

Into the flat silence that followed _that_ remark, Shiro coughed and sent, “Good thinking, Lance. I’m sure Pidge will be glad to hear it. Hunk, Pidge has the wreckage of the sniper team’s fighter to go over if you want to help with that.”

Adam had Iverson sit _down_, and said carefully, “I’m aware that Colleen Holt was doing some research on your behalf...ma’am.” The honorific seemed to be some kind of default setting. “Would you like me to take you to her notes?”

Krolia didn’t answer at once; she instead looked to Shiro, for his judgment. There was a quality of that look that said it wasn’t the uncertain looking for reassurance, but an operative used to betrayal asking for a risk assessment.

Shiro took a deep breath. Krolia would get the full story eventually, he was sure, and it would get probably very complicated. He did what he could. “I will personally vouch that Adam won’t knowingly lead you into an ambush situation.”

Adam flashed Shiro a look – surprise, then thoughtful, clearly not having considered that yes, of course, there might well be people wanting to capture and examine a galra woman who was also the mother of the only galra-human hybrid. “I’ll stay with you, ma’am,” he said solemnly. “Any surprises will have to take me too.”

“Thank you,” said Krolia, apparently not sure if that was a suicidal gesture or a kind one. The two stepped out.

Iverson ran a hand over his face. “She explains a lot.”

“You really don’t know a tenth of it,” said Shiro mildly. “She’s a senior Blade. Easily centuries old. She knows more of espionage than any human alive. And emotionally, right now she’s dealing with the death of her mate – uh, Keith’s father.”

“Can we use that?” asked Iverson.

Shiro blinked. “...I’m given to understand you’re the one that tried telling Keith that _I_ was dead. She will usually refer to me as Keith’s mate. I’ll leave the math to you.”

Iverson winced. “Her presence isn’t going to make anything easier. A known Galra spy? Even if she _is_ on our side. We’ll need to get her off the base if we can. Occupy her with that project she had Colleen working on, or something.”

“What _is_ that project?” asked Shiro.

Iverson shrugged. “Something to do with Keith’s father, I think. She wouldn’t talk about it. I just know it took a lot of digging – she’s been at it for weeks. Colleen solved long distance deep space air filtration in less than one. Holts.”

He said _Holts_ in the loaded way everyone used after getting to know the family; it meant _genius_ and also _a little unstable_.

“We’re going to need Krolia,” said Shiro. “She can help us uncover the fleet, I’m sure. The Blade have done covert ops for millenia. She’ll know better than anyone what Sendak’s using to hide.” He paused. “Where are your pilots?”

“Probably with the fighter wreckage,” said Iverson. “Big find, and all.”

~*~

Allura was waiting for her ship when it returned. She wore a courtly gown – a gift to her from her altean staff, who felt that now she was reunited with her people she should Look Like Royalty. And at the very least should look as regal as Lotor.

Allura was...adapting. On the whole she felt more comfortable in the Blue Lion, but she did understand _why_ she felt that way. Flying a Lion was simple. _Talking_ through conflicts was much harder.

Merla, Luca, and Tavo descended the ramp first, with Merla in the lead. None of the three looked happy.

“It’s barely been two quintants,” said Allura. “Surely it can’t have gone badly _that_ quickly.”

Merla, the leader of the trio, said solemnly, “It did, your highness. We have the Green Paladin’s elders aboard. They are in critical condition. Even the medical pods are barely sustaining them. The paladins’ homeworld has no medical pods. And if the castleship came under fire, any disruption to its power flow would likely kill the two humans. The Blue Paladin ordered us to bring them to you.”

Allura nodded. “Lance told me. Now tell me why you listened, please.”

It was Tavo who said, “Highness...there’s druid fingerprints all over that system. But we can’t sense them directly, or their cruisers. We can’t _find_ them. You chose us for this ship because we’re the strongest. But if the cruisers had wanted to destroy us, we wouldn’t have had time to raise any kind of defense. Yellow Paladin wanted us to see if the Olkari could help us improve the ship’s scanners.”

Allura nodded. That _was_ a good reason – not that mercy to the paladins was a _bad_ one, but it was war, and depriving the paladins of the castleship was not a small sacrifice. Sending the castleship away was like preventing yourself from being disarmed by deliberately throwing your weapon out of reach before it could be taken from you. It was desperate.

And these three, though they’d had combat experience now, were _frightened_ of how close the cruisers had gotten without being detected. Close enough to reach the planet, and strike.

Allura wondered if _she_ could detect Haggar’s presence. She rather thought she could; these three were the strongest of the colonists, but Allura was royal. Her power was orders of magnitude greater. But that wouldn’t solve the problem, not really. They needed a way to do this on their own.

“Coran,” she said into her earpiece. “I have two medical pods that need careful attention. Would you see them to a secure medical bay, please?”

“_Yes, princess, of course. On my way.”_

Allura turned her attention back to the trio of alchemists. “Once the pods are safely here, take the ship to Olkarion. Whatever they are willing to do, for the paladins or me, would be greatly appreciated.”

Merla saluted, which prompted Luca and Tavo to do the same.

“And while you are here,” Allura added mildly. “Please transfer your logs for my review. I would like to know how the paladins could return home and be in this much trouble this quickly.”


	6. Spear shall be shaken, shield be splintered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writer strongly suggests you do not read this chapter while: At Work, In Public, or Among People You Do Not Want Seeing You Cry.
> 
> It's what you knew was coming. Yeah. That bit.

Sendak watched through the magic the druids provided; the agitation on Earth. The _fear_. Having no visible enemy to confront, yet being wholly aware an enemy was _there_, somewhere, was driving the species mad.

It was almost worth losing what had turned out to be his only chance to destroy the castleship. _That_ would have demoralized them. But it would come back, eventually. He could probably destroy it then.

“How much of this is your doing, witch?” he asked.

Haggar regarded the images passively. “I chose humans who were already, for reasons of their own, inclined to pretend the threat you pose is not real,” she said. “Charismatic speakers willing to create lies for their own gain. All I have done is make certain they have no change of heart. This is their work.”

“The Champion is clearly an unusual representative of the species,” said Sendak. Which was, really, a relief; a whole planet of Shiro would have been a problem.

“It is unlikely they will destroy themselves in this manner,” Haggar warned, but not in a manner that suggested she cared whether Sendak listened; she was simply stating a fact.

Sendak sat back in his chair with a little sigh. She was right, of course. Amusing as the riots and protests were, they were unlikely to cause any _real_ damage to the species’ battle plans. They were simply demoralizing to the paladins. He eyed the images, thinking.

“Have any of them made an attempt to seize a Lion yet?”

Haggar nodded. “A plan is underway – several – to attempt to take the Red Lion. A few include plots to kidnap the paladin’s parent as a hostage to force the situation.”

Sendak grinned widely, his fangs gleaming. “Indeed. Make sure to record those, Haggar. I’m sure I will find them amusing. When do they plan to enact these plans?”

Haggar fell silent, communing with her druids and her puppets, sifting through their minds. “A quintant or two at most for the first attempts.”

“Confirm the time for me,” said Sendak, the tone now that of an order. “We may as well make use of them. I want the rest of the Blue Paladin’s pack.”

~*~

No one particularly wanted to leave Pidge alone for too long.

Lance and Hunk took it in turns to keep the most ‘eye’ on her; Hunk worked with her while conscious, on prying usable data out of the fighter wreckage, and on setting up the communication center that would keep her in touch with her brother and the Coalition fleet. Lance stayed with her whenever work wasn’t occupying her mind.

The first night, Pidge tried to sleep in her parents’ empty quarters. That ended with Lance finding her trying to work on the broken fighter console in her pajamas, and finally with him getting her to sleep in his sister Veronica’s quarters (which had his sister sleeping on a couch, for which he Owed Her). The next morning, the issue of Quarters resulted in five rooms, all neighboring each other, being offered to the paladins. Pidge’s room got put between Lance’s and Hunk’s, but Keith’s and Shiro’s remained empty. Keith flatly _refused_ to sleep under Garrison security, ever, end of story; Shiro didn’t feel quite as strongly about it, but he had his own problems with trust and the Garrison since the ‘quarantine’ incident. He didn’t need to make any kind of fuss though, as Keith very easily made enough for both of them. They alternated their nights between the Black Lion cargo bay, and the Red, the two Lions seated near enough to the wing housing the others that in the event of any treachery the response could be swift.

So worried were the Paladins about Pidge, that even while they worked on getting the new communication center up and running, and decoding the fighter logs, Lance and Hunk didn’t notice right away that there was an unusual level of radio silence.

Veronica, however, did not have quite so disrupted a life. And while Hunk was busy working with Pidge on the fighter console one morning, she approached her not-as-little-as-she-remembered brother and said, quietly, “We need to talk.”

Lance looked around; Shiro and Keith were doing their ‘we’re not hovering, we’re just keeping watch from a distance’ thing that conveniently covered both exits from the hangar the fighter pieces were scattered in. So he gestured _with me_ to his sister and walked nonchalantly toward a water cooler that put a fair amount of distance between them and any eavesdroppers. “What is it?”

“It’s Mom,” said Veronica quietly. “I don’t want to - you know, with Pidge’s family -”

Lance nodded. “She’s busy and out of earshot. What’s wrong with mom?”

“She’s too _quiet_,” said Veronica softly. “Every Wednesday afternoon, after lunch, she calls me. _Every. Wednesday_. The one time she didn’t, she’d slipped on some wet leaves after a rain and cracked her hip. I don’t want to upset Pidge, but...Mom hasn’t called.”

Lance nodded again, more slowly. “You want me to take Blue and go see?”

Veronica sighed. “Honestly, I want you to take Blue and bring them all _here_,” she admitted. “It’s safe here. There’s room. I know they’ve got lives and all but that’s kind of the point. I want them to keep having _lives_. The Garrison won’t call the families into the bunkers unless there’s a clear threat. The press keeps an eye out for that call – it’s like hearing Congress has recessed to a bunker, it’s a warning flag. So they won’t call unless they’re sure they have to and Mom being late with the weekly gossip session doesn’t count. But _you_ can go where you want, when you want. And if you brought them here the Garrison would just have to deal with it.”

Lance smiled. “De nada, V. I’ll go stretch Blue’s legs in that general direction and bring everyone in. I’ve been worried too, I just -” he nodded briefly toward the wreckage. “Didn’t want to look like I was upstaging Pidge.”

“I’m fine being the excuse,” Veronica agreed, relieved. “I’ll tell them I requested it.”

~*~

Marco McClain ….dreamed, but did not know he dreamed.

This was deliberate, of course. Unlike the capture of Keith, where keeping him in a tank had been a precaution against unknown abilities, in Marco’s case it was pure sadistic convenience. Suspended in a quintessence tank, dreaming ever-increasingly-dark nightmares, Marco could see nothing real, hear nothing real, make no attempt to escape. Fear for him would drive the Blue Paladin mad – or at least provide a powerful and possibly disabling distraction – and even if the day came that the paladins won, there was a fairly good chance that Marco’s mind would be permanently broken.

Sendak had the tank placed on the bridge of his cruiser, where any open communication screen would be sure to show Marco’s nude, quintessence-infused body dangling in the background. He had given orders that all the ‘special’ prisoners be likewise positioned. There were to be no accidental deaths. No, if the humans fired on a protected cruiser, they would know _exactly_ what they were destroying.

Voltron might have taken Sendak’s emperor from him, and then his empire, but Sendak intended to do them a hurt in kind, returning pain and loss in full measure. He would make them _weep_ before the end. The thought brought a smile to the old general’s lips.

He watched, now, as the Blue Lion launched from the Southwest Garrison, heading east-southeast to Cuba.

“Sir,” said a lieutenant. “We have all of the paladin’s family. Do we attack?”

A good question, Sendak mused. Part of him still wanted to wait, for that attempt on the Red Lion. Acting now _might_ dissuade the humans from trying to remove a Paladin themselves. On the other hand, it might also spur them to act more decisively – an attempt to control a situation that was in no way theirs to control.

“Let him have time to realize his kinsmen are gone,” Sendak decided. “Then destroy the island. Leave nothing alive. The humans are, after all, awaiting proof of our power.” He turned to the druid assigned to his ship. “Cloak us again on my command.”

~*~

Keith and Shiro were both fine with Lance taking off for a few hours. Hunk would need Pidge’s help for that long yet at least. So Lance suited up – at the very least, if it was something minor, being in armor would make it clear now wasn’t the time to make anyone Worry – and got into Blue, flying toward Cuba.

It was several hours in a plane, that flight. Lance remembered well how coming home for winter or spring breaks had required a great deal of planning for the long cramped flight. But Blue covered the distance in minutes. With legroom.

The street his parents’ house was on was...curiously empty. Cars on curbs, in driveways, indicated people at home and not work or errands, but no one was playing in the yards, walking on the sidewalks. It wasn’t just his parents’ house. Lance hovered there, above the block, and no one came out to wave at the Lion.

Blue growled in response to Lance’s gnawing worry. He punched up a scan...there was no one. Not here, anyway. There was no one for at least a mile.

This was all wrong. The cars said people should be _here_. Lance touched Blue down, and kept his hand ready to call his bayard as he stepped out. The scan said no one was here, but they’d already gotten proof the galra could sidestep that if they wanted. It might be an ambush.

The door of his parents’ home was not locked and only barely closed. That wasn’t right. Lance opened the door carefully, using his helmet to scan for heat signatures, foot prints, anything.

He went room to room like that. And then went two doors down, where his eldest brother Luis lived with his wife Lisa and their two little ones. That house was open too, and empty.

They’d been here. Fairly recently – within the past day or so, anyway. Both houses had that light level of disarray that came with daily living, and not the level of Clean the family used when going on trips. They’d not meant to be gone long, wherever they went.

They’d probably not meant to _go_ at all. There were no signs of anyone having packed anything – and anyway, all the cars were _here_. Even if an evacuation order had been given, surely they’d have at least tried to take a few things with them?

The gnawing worry in Lance’s stomach was growing larger. Much larger. Marco. He didn’t live with the rest of the family, they’d been joking about it. Leaving the nest to find a mate and all that other rot. Lance racked his brain, trying to remember if anyone had given an address, a building, as he ran back to Blue.

Reacting to his increasing distress, Blue roared defiance. Miles away in every direction, every car alarm and burglar alarm went off at once. Lance couldn’t find it in him to be embarrassed. _Something was wrong!_ They _needed_ to be alerted.

Blue bounded into the air, toward Matanzas. There were people below, now – Blue flew low, and he could see people pulling over or stopping what they were doing to watch the Lion pass.

Apartment building. Acting on a hunch that twisted his stomach, Lance scanned the taller buildings and apartment complexes.

One of them was entirely empty. Lance parked Blue on that one and rappelled down to ground level.

The mailboxes in the lobby confirmed; this was Marco’s building.

Someone – _three guesses as to who and the first two don’t count_ – had scooped up Lance’s whole family, and anyone else in the vicinity just to be sure.

Blue roared again, which set off car alarms, home security systems, and citywide sirens. People were now flooding out of everywhere, hands over their ears, staring at the Lion and the stunned young man in blue armor. Some were worried, some were angry at the racket and disturbance. Everyone wanted explanations.

“The galra have taken everyone in this building!” Lance snapped, pointing at the doors he’d come out of. “All of them! They have taken everyone near my family! You’re _not safe! _You -”

Lance didn’t get to tell them anything else.

He didn’t need to.

Blasts of powerful energy descended from the sky, tearing into the nearby buildings like they were paper. Ripping them apart to crumble on the crowded streets.

The screaming started.

The panic started.

The Blue Lion dove, Lance leaping up into her mouth, as the attack began.

~*~

It startled the Garrison personnel, how quickly the paladins went from ‘going about their quiet tasks’ to ‘running for their Lions’. Even Pidge and Hunk put down their work _immediately_, running just as determinedly as Shiro and Keith. Shiro yelled, “Cuba’s under fire!” as he ran, which told everyone else why they were moving and got the general alert sounded.

The Lions launched a good two minutes before the MFEs got off the ground, but the Lions could also meet their pilots halfway. Behind them and below them, domes of energy shimmered into life all across the continent. A direct attack was what Ryou had prepared Earth for. Beneath the domes, streets were packed as citizens began evacuation proceedings.

The entire world seemed to be hunkering down for a fight in just the few minutes it took the Lions to reach Cuba. Fighters filled the air with the Blue Lion furiously trying to take down as many as it could – but the fighters weren’t engaging Blue at all.

They were focused on the _ground_. Cuba only had one force dome, over Havana – this part of the island was already largely on fire, the fighters taking down every building they could. Lance had to be going insane given how quickly Blue’s head kept turning, firing blasts, racks of missiles appearing at her shoulders to aim at the galra ships, and none of it apparently saving much of anything. There were still more than enough fighters to focus fire on Havana’s defensive dome – and more than enough to have destroyed Blue if that were what they’d chosen to do.

As the other four Lions neared and engaged, the fighters seemed to simply vanish. They didn’t just retreat – one moment they’d be there, and the next it was clear open air.

“Where did they go?” yelled Lance. “Where the _fuck_ are they? They took my _family_, Shiro! The houses, Marco’s building – they were empty when I got here! _Where are they?”_

“I don’t know,” said Shiro, as the Lions fanned out to do a sweep. The island below was burning, black smoke filling the air. Only the force dome over the capital had saved _anything_. A green and vibrant place was now largely...char.

“The druids,” said Keith quietly.

“Yeah, we worked that one out for ourselves, genius,” snarled Pidge, as Green turned her head westward. “Hunk. We gotta check your place. Lead the way.”

Hunk’s voice held naked fear for his family. The shock was audible, the numbness, audible. “My? - Okay. Yeah. Right.”

There wasn’t anything they could do for burning Cuba below them at this point. The MFE pilots were coming and could patrol. Hunk turned Yellow westward, and led the paladins to the island of Apolima.

Shiro fielded the calls from the Garrison. “_Paladins! Report!” _came Iverson’s voice. _“What’s the situation out there?”_

“Havana stands, Commander,” said Shiro solemnly. “But it’s the only thing in Cuba that does. The galra have torched the rest. We got there in time to drive them off before they could break Havana’s dome, but that’s all. They’ve done their vanishing trick again.”

“_Merciful God,”_ sighed Iverson. _“So you’re returning to base?”_

“Not just yet,” Shiro replied, adjusting the comms so the stressed, fearful snarkfest going on between the other paladins wouldn’t reach the Garrison. “Lance reported that before the attack he discovered a lot of people had gone missing – his entire family, but also everyone nearby. Whole buildings, whole blocks of people, just gone. Apparently done so quietly that nobody nearby realized anything was amiss.”

“_You’ve got to be kidding me,”_ said Iverson. “_SOMEBODY would have noticed!”_

Yellow was dipping lower. Mere intraplanetary distances were really nothing for the Lions. “You’d think we’d have been able to follow the fighters back to their cruiser too, commander,” Shiro sighed. “I’ve never seen galra so hell-bent on _hiding_ before. We’re nearing Samoa. Shiro out.”

“Nobody noticed,” said Lance in a dead tone. “That whole block was deserted. Marco’s whole building was empty. Nobody noticed.”

“Guys,” said Hunk, and there was enough worry and fear in the lone word to shut everyone up.

Yellow touched down first, outside the ring of houses. There were no people to be seen as the other four Lions followed suit.

“Just like Varadero,” said Lance woodenly, getting out of Blue.

Hunk got out of Yellow and ran with a strange, halting gait – wanting to know, and fearing to know in equal measure. Shiro stayed with Lance, a hand on his shoulder, while Pidge and Keith went after Hunk.

It _was_ just like Varadero. The houses were empty, food laid out and sometimes mid-preparation, fires burning low, untended and unsmothered. Pets ran about freely, mewing or barking or cawing for feeding. Hunk went from house to house, scanning as Lance had scanned. “They were...here a day or two ago,” he managed. “They were _just here_.” His voice was rising. “_They were just here_.”

Keith grabbed Hunk by the arm; Hunk jerked, but Keith was strong enough not to be pulled. “Stop it,” he ordered. “Stop it, Hunk! You’re no good to them like this!”

But Hunk wasn’t in any state to listen. He dropped to his knees, pulling off his helmet and _sobbing_. “They’re _gone_. They’re all ..._gone_.”

“At least they’re alive,” Pidge growled. “Get _up_. Sendak did this. He had to have done this. We’re going to break his magic camouflage and we are going to kick. His. _Ass_. Get _up!_”

Hunk didn’t seem to hear. The big man was bowed, on his knees, almost a kowtow before the empty village, as if asking it to forgive him for not being there. His family and his home were the foundation he built everything else on; when it crumbled, so did he.

Pidge gave Keith a ‘_you_ deal with this’ look and stomped back to Shiro and Lance, snarling that she was going to _find_ Sendak, _and_ Haggar, and there was going to be _payback_.

Keith crouched by Hunk and put a hand across Hunk’s broad shoulders, and let him cry. He didn’t try to talk him out of it, or soothe him; he just made himself _there_, and waited until the force of Hunk’s grief had died down to little hiccups and sniffles.

“I know, I know,” Hunk croaked hoarsely. “M’no good to them like this.”

“You _were_ no good to them,” Keith corrected. “You were on the edge of hysterical for a minute there. You’re better now.”

Hunk gave Keith a flat, dead look. “Cos on my knees and a face full of snot’s the best answer to a panic.”

“You love them,” said Keith slowly. “You love them more than anything in the universe. You love them more than you’re afraid of Sendak, or Haggar. You can solve any problem, fix any machine. You’ll find them, and you’ll bring them home. You won’t let anything stop you.”

Hunk stared at Keith with the vague, blank eyes of the emotionally exhausted. “You’re real sure of that.”

“You’d have done it for Shay,” said Keith simply. “You _did_ do it for Shay.” He patted Hunk’s far shoulder, across Hunk’s back so that it was also a kind of light hug. “Come on. Don’t make me carry you, Pidge would take pictures.”

Keith stood up, and Hunk got his knees under him to stand up with him, running the back of his hand across his face. Hunk looked up at the stars as if judging them for hiding his family. “You’re gonna help? This magic shit, I see where Pidge is coming from with that.”

Keith’s mouth twitched upward briefly at the edges. “If you’re asking whether I’ll be your guinea pig...yeah, I will. Come on.”

~*~

Pidge stormed back to Lance and Shiro, grumbling dire warnings of her wrath to come and just how much Sendak was going to regret pissing her off.

At first, neither of the other two paladins seemed to notice her or pay her much mind; Lance was still numb, processing the loss of his family and the loss of most of his country along with it. Shiro was trying to keep at least half an eye on _everything_ at the same time, and discovering he didn’t have anywhere near enough eyes for that.

Pidge did not require the attention or validation of anyone else, though. She was too busy conducting scans and typing furiously and onehanded into her wrist console.

Eventually, Lance asked in a soft, mind-utterly-elsewhere tone, “Why didn’t the fighters burn _here_?”

Shiro blinked. “You mean attack? I’d guess because it looks like they took _everyone_. The island’s entire population.”

“Took _where_ though?” asked Pidge bluntly. “I mean it’s not a big place here, but there’s easily more than a hundred normal residents by the evidence. What’re they doing with the people?”

Lance winced and turned visibly green; his imagination could supply any number of answers he didn’t want to think about.

Shiro sighed and said to Pidge, “Maybe save that speculation for me and Keith, hm?”

“So several houses on Lance’s street,” said Pidge. “An apartment building. And an island. I mean clearly _focused_ on us, and taking...what? Likely witnesses? Even the Blade of Marmora isn’t _this_ paranoid.”

“Oh, they are,” said Shiro grimly, thinking of the first time he’d been to their base. “We won them over, but ...they were definitely this paranoid at first.”

Pidge gave Shiro a narrow-eyed look at that. “Really. Okay. Well. Even with magic there’s got to be a limited number of places to hide, and some reason they’re willing to take on extra prisoners. We work those angles, maybe we can find them.”

Lance was coming off not just the shock of his family’s loss, and his homeland being torched, but some intense combat in the meantime. The adrenaline was starting to wear off. Shiro let Lance lean on him, holding Lance steady with a light hug.

“We’ll work the problem, Pidge,” said Shiro quietly. “At least people can’t possibly deny the galra threat is real now.”

~*~

Sendak watched through the scrying sphere his druid provided, with a slow, satisfied smile on his lips. “Good,” he rumbled. “Good. And they cannot find us. That should increase their fear. Prey always fears the unseen predator.”

“Our work continues, general,” said the masked druid. It – it was impossible to tell under the robes and masks which ones had been male or female – gestured, and on the forward screen appeared little rectangles – headlines, newscasts. Several blamed the paladins for not catching or defeating the Galra Enemy. There was some praise for Ryou now – dead heroes were easy to praise – and challenges to the Garrisons to Solve The Problem; either get Voltron to save everyone like everyone had been _told_ they would do, or surrender the Lions that weren’t any help anyway and hope it meant the galra would leave Earth alone.

Sendak nodded approval of the work. “Do your spies think it likely the humans will force the paladins to surrender?”

“No, general,” said the druid. “Though it is possible they may drive the paladins to leave Earth – with, or without, their kin. Developments continue; there is little data regarding the general nature of this species.”

“Indeed,” mused Sendak. “They have particle barriers that can withstand a sustained barrage. Saboteurs will be required.”

The druid bowed. “We are already placing agents, general.”

~*~

_Little_ data. Not _no_ data.

Haggar had completed the conversion of a few new Druids, and was currently testing them and their use of the dark powers.

They were an ..._unusual_ species. Haggar had not yet decided if that was a good thing or a bad one yet.

Most species, when exposed to large amounts of quintessence, changed in some way. Galra would lose any visible sign of pupil or iris, rendering their eyes a uniform gold color. Further quintessence use tended to increase their size and muscle mass, and often increased their fang length as well. Alteans most often developed white hair, and further use would increase the size of their facial markings.

Humans, however, showed no _outward_ changes at all. Their eyes did not change. Their hair did not change. Their _size_ did not change. Haggar had to rely on mystic senses to know when a human in a tank had absorbed enough quintessence to be prepared for later conversion stages. They just didn’t _show…_.anything.

At least...not when _quintessence_ was applied. Or dark magic as such. Casting spells on them didn’t change them.

But when Haggar undertook the final step in conversion – imbuing the body with dark rift energy – humans changed. Alteans didn’t, and galra didn’t, but humans did.

Ironically, it seemed to turn their hair white.

“You are immortal now,” she told the two test subjects, the purple quintessence still gleaming on their bare skin. “You will not age, or sicken. But you will need to feed. You feel it now, the hunger.”

Both the human druids turned their heads to watch Haggar as she floated by them. Their expressions betrayed no emotion. She gestured to one of the galra soldiers assigned to assist her. “Bring the prisoners.”

The galra saluted – trying, with only partial success, to hide his healthy terror of the witch – and backed out of her presence. He returned a few minutes later with a few police officers in restraints, holding one up in each hand. He dropped them before Haggar; they swore at the pain, and in fear of their captors.

When they saw the two new druids, naked and gleaming in the afternoon sun, they made the mistake of thinking species was enough to forge allegiance and called to them for help.

The druids ignored the sound, watching Haggar.

“Reach for the darkness,” rasped Haggar. “Focus your will upon the life force before you, and feed.”

The two bound officers paled, aware now that something _really_ bad was going on. They tried to plead with the new druids. Beg for their lives.

Two hands raised. Two zigzagging lances of black energy shot forth, each striking one of the police officers.

They aged, rapidly. Decades of aging in seconds. Their corpses dropped to the ground, crumbling to dust as if centuries had passed in seconds.

The two new druids inhaled, a small satisfied sound. “Always destroy the remains,” Haggar commanded flatly. “You have much to do and an investigation would be inconvenient.”

“Yes, High Priestess,” the two druids chimed solemnly.

Macidus drifted forward, draping Druid robes over the two newest members of the flock. “Follow me,” he ordered them. “I will familiarize you with your assignments.”

~*~

Shiro did not let the paladins return to the Garrison that night. Five Lions encircled the little shack where they’d all spent their first night as a group of mostly-strangers, because there weren’t really a lot of options. Keith and Shiro swept up dust and did enough repair to give Pidge, Lance, and Hunk room to sleep in a big pile on the only mat, which served as bed and couch. No one complained. If anything, having friends to hold on to who were as much on the edge of tears as everyone else was the best thing for them.

Keith and Shiro stayed outside the shack, on watch. They’d firmly confiscated the other three’s helmets – and thus communications – for the time being. The Garrison wasn’t happy.

Keith absently hung the Yellow, Blue and Green helmets on Red’s fangs. He kept his own on, though he didn’t respond. He just wanted to know what they were trying to order Shiro to do. It wasn’t hard to guess - ‘go on the offensive’. But there were no signs of the enemy fleet, or fighters, or druids. And the brilliant minds that could find a way to locate that hidden enemy were currently traumatized and emotionally exhausted.

They weren’t children anymore, none of them were, but they were _his team_ and Shiro would take on the whole Garrison if he needed to, to protect them. Keith knew it. Approved of it. And would help, if it came to that.

“Pidge defended me, yesterday,” Keith noted, apropos of nothing much.

Shiro raised an eyebrow. “You’re surprised?”

“Kinda, yeah,” said Keith, leaning back against Red’s mouth. “Lance did, too.”

Shiro shook his head. “You’re so quick to think they don’t want you around. They got over that a long while ago.”

“Defending the galra team mate to the Garrison at a time like this is different,” said Keith.

“It’s really not,” said Shiro, gentle now. “Not to humans, Keith. Once you’re family, you’re _family_. The Garrison’s not their family. You’ve got their trust. You’re family. The Garrison tries to argue with that, the Garrison will get told to go to hell.” He paused. “Galra don’t work that way?”

Keith shook his head. “I know...it _looks_ a lot like the standard racial purity bullshit humans have pulled for centuries,” he said slowly. “But it’s not. Not to galra. It’s so much...bigger. It’s like...where are the neanderthals, on Earth?”

Shiro blinked. “You’ve lost me. Neanderthals are extinct.”

“Not quite,” said Keith. “They’re humans. Part of what makes up humans, anyway. They were genetically compatible with early humans and just got...absorbed.”

Shiro thought this over. “So...because galra are genetically compatible with, apparently, pretty much every species in the entire _universe_...”

“If they don’t focus really hard on species purity, in a few thousand more years there wouldn’t be any ‘galra’ to speak of,” said Keith. “There’d be people like me, or Acxa, or Zethrid, or Ezor, or Regris, or Antok. Or Lotor.”

“So the only way for galra to continue to survive as a distinct species, is to come down hard on impure blood,” said Shiro slowly. “But several of those names were Blades. I’m guessing Kolivan doesn’t feel the way Sendak does.”

“Kolivan thinks that maybe it’s past time for galra to fade out,” Keith corrected. “Given what the galra have _done_ out of their need to stay pure. Sendak’s fleet, they’re all pure galra. We’re probably gonna have to kill them all.” His lip twitched in an echo of a smile. “I just...I dunno. It’s kind of exhausting getting the purity rhetoric from both sides. Especially when humans subdivide to levels the galra probably haven’t bothered with since becoming a spacefaring species.”

“You’re thinking on grim lines today,” said Shiro, and looked over his shoulder at the shack, and the relative silence of three exhausted paladins in a gerbil pile. “Not that there isn’t cause. Are you feeling better?”

Keith shrugged. “I can accept I’m not hopping realities,” he said. “And I understand why you said you forgive me. Which, thank you, and also you’re an asshole for doing it that far in advance.”

Shiro grinned. Keith was _definitely_ feeling better then.

Keith noted the grin and gave Shiro a light punch on the shoulder. “Asshole,” he repeated. “But there’s ...” he sighed, relaxing against Red. “There’s thinking it through and going ‘yeah, that’s logical’, and there’s _feeling_ it. Knowing it in the gut. I’m sure I used to.”

Shiro tilted his head. “Anything I can do to help?”

Keith thought about it. “Do something in the mornings. When we wake up. Something only you, out of all the millions of possible versions of you, would do. That no other version would think to do. I can hang on to that.”

Both of Shiro’s eyebrows went up. “Well. I did say ‘anything’,” he replied. “I’ll think of something. But for now we’ve got tomorrow to sort. Lance sent our base back – which, sound logic, not knocking that, but. We still need a base, and this shack’s not going to cut it.”

“We’ve got five gigantic metal lions, Shiro,” said Keith blandly. “Anywhere we park them is a base.”

“I think we need one with communal beds,” said Shiro just as blandly. “Those three ...this is their first experience with this kind of loss, Keith. You and I were a lot younger, and we’ve had a lot more time to deal with it. Them...we don’t even know if their families are alive.”

“Alive, yes,” said Keith firmly. “If Sendak wanted to kill them he’d have left their desecrated bodies for them to find, Shiro. He doesn’t do subtle. And he can only kill them once. He’s going for the pain. He can inflict a lot more pain while they’re _worrying_ about their families and _afraid_ for them. While they’re scared that they won’t get there in time. Or that around any corner Sendak could leave their family’s corpses hanging from a beam.”

Shiro stared. “...Every now and then your galra brain worries me.”

Keith met the stare levelly. “We’ve hurt him, Shiro. He was devoted to Zarkon, to the Empire as Zarkon built it. And we’ve ripped it all from him. He had two ways to deal with that – a suicidal charge, or go for the pain. He’s taking that second option. He’s waiting to attack until we’re invested in the outcome. I don’t think it’s a coincidence the first casualties were the best minds we could’ve tapped for solutions, or that the first territory attacked was important to one of us.”

Shiro had to look away; Keith knew Sendak’s madness because he’d _been_ there. He knew, personally, that desire to rip and shred and _hurt_ the ones that had hurt him. And Shiro knew that Keith’s willingness to do so had probably saved his, Shiro’s, life. Possibly more than once. It was just...now that kind of rage was aimed at Pidge, Lance, and Hunk. “So...alive, then. Then we focus on recovering them. Getting them clear.”

Keith took a deep breath. “Alive,” he agreed. “Healthy enough to move under their own power, or sane enough to recognize their own rescue..._that_ I don’t think we should count on, Shiro. Sendak will hurt them more if they suffer to get their families back, but the people they get back are broken.”

Shiro was really, really glad Keith hadn’t said that near the other three, and wasted no time emphasizing, “Never, _ever_ mention that theory where they can hear it.”

“I won’t,” Keith agreed quietly. “But _you_ need to be ready for it.” He paused. “You’ve all told me what happened to me. And how much time that took. Sendak has had these people longer, hasn’t he?”

Shiro took a deep breath. If Sendak had done _that_ – if he’d turned their families into druids, or Haggar’s puppets – this really might be the last battle for the paladins. He couldn’t imagine Pidge, or Lance, or Hunk being at all willing to keep flying with Voltron with their families in that kind of condition. “We’ve _got_ to find them.”

“We will,” said Keith grimly. “If not on our own, eventually Sendak will have to dangle them where we can see. If he can’t show proof of life, his prisoners will be assumed dead and ...the others’ll start moving on. He won’t want that.”

Shiro closed his eyes. Gods, sometimes he just..._really_ hated galra. There was a wry sort of sense from Keith that meant Keith knew it, and felt the same. Keith had days when he really hated _humans_, too. Benefits of a dual heritage; he got Stupid from both sides, and enough distance from either to call out both. “Just let me do the talking when we explain this to the garrison,” Shiro sighed. “The last thing I want is to remind them your brain’s wired a little differently. They’re on edge enough right now.”

Keith tilted his head. “The helmets have stopped squawking. Maybe they’ve gone to bed.”

“Good idea,” Shiro agreed, and tugged Keith toward Black. “My place this time.”

Keith took the time to snag the helmets off Red’s teeth before coming with him. “We could turn Black’s belly into the base,” he offered. “Room enough in there for everyone to sleep if we got another mattress or two.”

Shiro slipped his human arm around Keith’s waist. “Leaving you and me in Red, because I am _not_ surrendering my privacy. I’ve got too much to get done.”

“You, me, and Cosmo,” Keith reminded. “At least, when he decides Mom’s okay to be left alone.”

~*~

Matt arrived, and almost bowled over the docking bay attendants as he rushed out of the ship. He didn’t stop – careening off of corridor walls and anyone in his way like a mad human pinball – until he reached the medical sector.

Lotor was, clearly, very much at work reforming the sector. Many alteans were there now, installing and upgrading pods, removing the beds that had doubled as interrogation chairs. The galra attendants were, for the most part, at least friendly – if a bit put out at all the change. Some of the pods were occupied with galra and were being closely monitored.

The two Matt needed to see were farther in. The pods were older, and clearly designed to be on a castleship, not central command’s medzone. But his parents floated in serene sleep in the pale blue liquid, and their lifesigns were stable.

Matt immediately set about looking over _every_ aspect of the two pods. Looking up how to understand the readouts. He ignored all the beings behind and around him until Romelle put a hand on his shoulder. “Um. You should probably talk to the princess, Matt.”

“I just have to make sure -”

“_Matt.”_ the voice was not Romelle’s.

He turned and Allura was standing there, garbed as the princess she truly was. It was like being bitchslapped by Aphrodite; Matt shut up and stood still.

Allura wasn’t actually sure what to do with that reaction. A little concerned, she stepped forward. “They live, Matt. They made it here. They _will_ heal.”

“But why haven’t they already?” Matt asked, almost a whisper.

Allura’s lips pursed. “Have you seen any truly _elderly_ beings among the alteans or the galra?” she asked. “And please don’t say Coran. Late middle age at most. Life..._runs out_, among many races. Yours included. The fire...runs out of fuel.”

Matt studied his parents. They _were_ old. He knew that. But they could live another thirty years, easily…

...and what was thirty years to beings that considered ‘somewhere past six hundred’ to be ‘late middle age at most’?

Allura put a reassuring hand lightly on Matt’s arm. “I come here every quintant,” she promised. “The paladins sent them here because they will be safe, and because I can help them. But it will take time. I want to heal their wounds, not make them immortal.”

Matt nodded. Gods, his mother looked a _lot_ older than he remembered her being when he’d left on the Kerberos mission. A lot older than the...what. Four years they’d been gone? Five? She looked like she’d lived twenty, alone on Earth. “I ...don’t think they’d want to live forever,” he agreed quietly.

“Say rather, I think that choice is one best made by your entire family,” Allura replied. She looked over at Romelle, and back to Matt. “Will your crew be staying here, then?”

Matt sighed. “Probably not,” he admitted. “Too much to do still. Is there _anything_ I can do to help them?”

Allura’s lips pursed. “The medical staff really don’t know very much about humans in a general sense,” she said. “As a family member, your medical information would be more valuable than most. If your captain agrees, would you stay a day or two and submit to medical scanning? We can use that information to help gauge your parents’ state of health.”

“Sure,” said Matt. “Anything you need.” He paused. “Um. I realize saying this while standing where I’m standing is...rude… but if I have to be examined by a galra can there be, like, altean guards or nurses or something? My last stay here wasn’t the awesomest.”

“We’ll stay with you,” said Romelle. “You trust Elcris, right? Me and Elcris and Olia, we’ll make sure nobody does anything they shouldn’t.”

Allura smiled. “That’s settled then. It shouldn’t take more than a quintant or two, to be thorough. When the crystal link is encrypted, we will ask Pidge to transmit hers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Fell deeds awake: fire and slaughter!_  
Spear shall be shaken, shield be splintered,  
a sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises! 
> 
> From the rallying cry of King Theoden at the battle of Pelennor.


	7. Snakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fanged things in dark places, biting and spitting poison. The paladins are Not Happy. But then, just at the moment, nobody is.

Krolia was not herself.

To her credit, she was fully aware of this. She’d known it would happen, coming back to Earth. Her mate was dead. There were several levels of knowing and accepting that. Galra were stubborn beings, difficult to sway. She’d learned of his death from Keith, and _intellectually_, she’d had plenty of time to process the reality. She’d even seen his death, in Keith’s memories, and had time to come to terms with it.

But there was a visceral level, too. A deep gut sense that wanted to say he could just be ...somewhere else, that he might come back. That she could still return to him. That same visceral level had kept Keith searching for Shiro long after his human comrades had accepted that his disappearance probably meant his death. Keith had been lucky; he _had_ gotten Shiro back.

Krolia knew she would not be so fortunate. That was why she’d wanted to visit his grave. Something real, physically solid, so that her heart could – finally – accept the truth that yes, her mate was gone. It hurt. It hurt a _lot_. And she knew it was affecting her thinking, her reactions. It was why she’d accepted Adam’s offer to poke at Colleen Holt’s computer for her findings; she was no good to her son or his friends like this, any more than a wounded puma was a good house cat.

Krolia was far older than her son. She’d lost more than one mate down the centuries. More than one child, too; Keith was her only living descendant, but there had been others once – all dead now. She knew this pain, knew what she should and shouldn’t risk trying, knew how long it would take to reach some kind of normal again.

Thankfully, Colleen Holt had presented Krolia with exactly the kind of challenge the senior Blade could sink her fangs into.

Colleen did _not_ trust the Garrison. That was immediately obvious. The humans of the Garrison mostly treated basic network security as a formality endured to make superiors happy. Krolia, in what Blades would count as ‘mild poking around’, not even general recon, had already uncovered the handwritten notes on which several Garrison officers had written their passcodes. She’d filed that information away, of course. No telling when it might be useful.

Colleen did not have any such handwritten notes. She didn’t have any personal items in her lab that might indicate likely choices of passcode, either. It wasn’t a variation on her name, age, or birthday, nor any of those for any of her family. And she’d added a second layer; a particular flash drive had to be in a specific slot, or her computer booted up into a clean slate – all default settings. Krolia didn’t want to try the flash drive in any _other_ machines; she wouldn’t put it past Colleen to have booby trapped it so that using it anywhere else wiped both the drive and the computer it was plugged into.

It was Marmora level paranoia, and Krolia approved. But she still needed to know what was there.

The weakness had to be that Colleen was restricted to using Garrison equipment, and Garrison servers. And the Garrison’s idea of security wasn’t as thorough as Colleen’s. Which meant there was a _passcode_, and not – for example – biometric scans paired with a voice print recorder requiring a specific phrase.

Brute force it had to be, then. It would take time – vargas, likely, since Colleen had to have _known_ this weakness was there and set her code such that this approach would at least buy her time – but it would get Krolia in. She set her program running.

Adam was watching her from the doorway. Krolia glanced at Cosmo, but the wolf seemed unconcerned. _Not_ spying, then. She trusted the wolf’s judgment.

He noticed her watching him. “You’re very familiar with Earth electronics,” he said mildly.

“I’ve been here before,” she reminded him. “And compared to galra systems, your electronics are not very complex.”

“So...if you’re part of a good faction of galra,” said Adam slowly, “And we’re so primitive, why didn’t you send any forces to help us out?”

Krolia blinked at him. “You have _Voltron_ helping you,” she said.

“Five people, and some animal shaped robots,” said Adam.

There was a moment where Krolia visibly dialed down her internal assumption of Adam’s level of Clue. “Those ‘five people and animal shaped robots’ have liberated worlds that entire _fleets_ of my people’s ships held captive,” she said patiently. “Did Ryou not tell you this?”

Adam shrugged. “I guess I’m still seeing my ex and a bunch of delinquent cadets,” he said, though without particular judgment. “You’re hacking Garrison systems. Colleen didn’t give you a passcode?”

“How would she have done so?” asked Krolia honestly. “Our only means of communication was over an insecure line. She was shot before she could provide it.” She waved a hand. “I have no interest in Garrison intelligence – only in the question I asked her to research.”

“Keith’s family,” Adam guessed.

_Now_ he had Krolia’s narrow-eyed full attention. “Did she speak to you about it?”

“Not really,” said Adam. “But there isn’t a lot else you could have asked her to do, that she’d have been willing to do, considering she never met you face to face. Are you sure this is a good time for that information?”

“It is difficult to turn someone you did not know existed into a viable hostage,” said Krolia. “Unless humans think differently about such matters?”

Adam’s lips pursed. “I don’t know this Keith with Voltron,” he admitted. “When I knew him he was still a cadet. The Keith I _knew_? Would have blown up bank vaults for that information.”

Krolia was still studying him. “You do not like him.”

She said it calmly, neutrally, as if just making an observation. Adam still heard the warning. He had courage enough not to back down, though. “Not really, no. He was always Taka – _Shiro’s_ _ \- _pet project. I never saw the appeal, personally. Kid steals his car the day they met, constantly getting into fights, disobeying orders...Shiro went to bat for him over and over and I never got the impression Keith actually appreciated how much risk he put Shiro to. And it was mutual, like they’d just bring out the arrogant hubris in each other. It doesn’t seem to have changed.”

Krolia listened, as if measuring every word and measuring Adam by them. “I see,” she said. “And others, they agree with your assessment?”

“Some do,” said Adam. “Ryou didn’t, but he wouldn’t, would he? As Shiro’s clone?”

“Clones are close copies,” said Krolia. “Rarely exact matches. Most of the situations where one would employ a clone require a few key differences from the original.”

The console in front of Krolia beeped. The crack had worked; she was in Colleen’s files. Krolia did her the courtesy of only looking at those files marked ‘Krolia Research’. Adam walked over to take a look – and found Krolia’s hand on his chest. She didn’t seem to be making an effort, but she utterly stopped any forward motion on his part.

“Don’t trust me?” Adam asked.

“There are factions among galra,” said Krolia. “There are factions among humans. Possibly, we are not enemies. But we are not friends.”

Adam snorted. “I don’t have any particular love for your son,” he admitted. “And I’m a little inclined toward giving my ex a punch. That doesn’t mean we’re on opposite sides.”

“I didn’t say we were,” Krolia pointed out. “But we are not _friends_. And my son deserves to see this before _you_ do.” And this time, the warning was crystal clear. If he pushed it, he would _make_ himself an enemy, and she would act accordingly.

Adam backed up, shaking his head. “We _are_ at war,” he said. “I don’t know if now’s the best time for personal journeys of discovery.” He noted Krolia’s expression. “...Keith used to look exactly like that. I know what it means.” From his reaction it seemed he thought it meant ‘stay out of reach or get punched’.

“Good,” said Krolia. She copied the relevant files to her wrist computer, removed the hack connection, and restored Colleen’s security measures. Whatever the causes of Colleen’s mistrust – and Krolia could think of several, possibly in conjunction – the galra agreed with it.

Adam coughed. “So. You...have to realize that you’re going to need an escort. This is all...high security, this whole complex.”

“And you are one of three that manage it,” Krolia replied blandly. “You are volunteering, then.”

Adam looked pained. In truth he _hadn’t_ meant to volunteer. But she was right, in his company the barriers would disappear. The thing was, he didn’t really trust Keith – and this woman reminded him a _lot_ of Keith. “You’re going to want to study those files, right?” he asked. “I can provide quarters...”

“You are going to finish that sentence with, ‘but not security’,” Krolia observed. “I will stay with the Lions.”

On cue, the big blue-and-black wolf appeared – taking up most of the remaining available space – and Krolia set a hand on its ruff. The pair disappeared in a swirl of blue motes.

Adam sighed. Security _nightmare_, this.

~*~

Cosmo took Krolia to Red’s belly. It seemed the safest place to be, and presumably the Red Lion didn’t mind her presence as long as she stayed out of the cockpit.

“Thank you,” she said to the wolf tiredly, offering a hand to rub his jaw. She couldn’t understand him, but she knew intelligent eyes when she saw them. “Are you curious as well, then? Shall I tell you what is here?”

That got her petting hand a lick, which Krolia took to mean ‘yes, please’. The way the wolf got comfortable and watched her suggested rapt attention. She looked around. Clearly, her son and Shiro would stay here – not that she was entirely sure where ‘here’ was, just at the moment. That was the downside of being teleported; no sense of distance covered. Still, she was unlikely to be ambushed by anyone other than her son here. She sat on the mattress, and activated her gauntlet computer, opening the files.

“Keith’s father was a good person,” she said. “Brave. Sacrificial. I couldn’t really be part of his social life, of course. My shifting isn’t that good. I could answer the door once or twice, that was all.” She flicked through the files. Her mate had done ...fairly well, it seemed, creating a paper trail for their son that had little to do with reality. At least, for the few years she’d been here. A birth certificate for a hospital he hadn’t been born in, an attending physician conveniently dead. Immunization records that didn’t really apply when dealing with galra biology. Colleen had found it all – and had done quite a good job spotting the fakes, too, judging by the flags on some files. “He lived alone, until I arrived,” she said. “I got the impression that he had a large family, but that he preferred to live on the edges of it. He didn’t tell me why, and I didn’t ask. I didn’t know enough about humans to make any kind of distinction. I know better now.”

Cosmo padded over to her to put his big furry head in her lap. Comfort? Reassurance? Welcome, either way.

Colleen had found a lot more than she’d bargained on. Krolia frowned, reading. “Listen to this,” she told the wolf. “The fire that killed him was not an accident – or rather, the fire was an accident, but his death was not. Apparently there were elements in the Garrison that had noted my ship’s arrival, but were unable to find _me_ – or my ship – because we’d hidden it, and I stayed indoors during the days. But he needed to give Keith a paper trail so that Keith could go to school with other children his age. And the documents he had forged weren’t forged well _enough_; the Garrison flagged them, and Keith and my mate were put under surveillance.”

Cosmo’s ears perked forward, lip curling just a bit to reveal fang. His eyes were locked on Krolia. “I agree,” she told the wolf, continuing to read. “Colleen wasn’t sure who it was that flagged the files, or ordered the surveillance. She seems certain it wasn’t Iverson or Adam. She hadn’t decided if a ‘Sanda’ was responsible yet. So that’s worth investigating. Thanks to Ryou and her marriage to Sam, Colleen had access to otherwise restricted files at the Garrison. She uncovered orders that...my mate be ‘removed’ and Keith ‘acquired’.” She studied the dates. “My son would have been...six decaphoebs at most when that order came down. But it does not appear to have gone according to plan. Keith wasn’t taken in by the Garrison….” Frowning, Krolia kept scanning the files. _Why_ hadn’t the Garrison taken him in? She knew where Keith had ended up. Over and over. Lost in the system. What had happened? “I can’t find an answer in this. Colleen hadn’t finished her research, it seems. But she did note that the Garrison acted deliberately to remove Keith from his father’s kin, by sending him to...oh, I recognize that name. He was always angry – sorry, my mate was always angry at him. A brother, I think. Prone to crafting illegal consumables. My mate would mention him as a reason he didn’t live near a lot of his family – didn’t want to be drawn into the troubles his brother caused.” She paused. “Which...hurt him. I think. Normally they would work as family, I think...he never really did explain, and galra do not really run extended families. I didn’t think to question it at the time. But essentially, the Garrison agents saw to it Keith was placed with the least suitable member of his family, specifically so that when his family failed to provide a good environment, the Garrison would have full recourse in taking over. Except that’s where Colleen’s research fails, as they succeeded in putting Keith into the child-care system, but did not then exert any influence over ...anything that she has thus far been able to find. It seems the Garrison lost track of him entirely, until Shiro brought him in as a candidate.”

Cosmo tilted his head at Krolia, questioning. She could only shake hers. “I don’t understand either,” she admitted. “I wish I could discuss this with her. Or Keith. I do not want to bring this up to him until I have something useful, something that won’t _hurt_.” She flicked through the files some more. “...Ah. This is useful. At least to start.” She squinted at the text. “Window Rock, Arizona.” She tapped some keys, getting a set of coordinates, which she showed to Cosmo. “Will you take us there?”

The answer was evidently yes; Cosmo got to his feet, nudged her hand with his big furry head, and they disappeared from Red’s belly in a shower of blue motes.

~*~

“You are _moping_,” said Ezor. “Lotor’s the Emperor. He’s fine with us. Sendak’s gone, Haggar’s gone, we have the _Sincline_ and a blank check to use it on Sendak’s remaining forces, and you are _moping_.”

Acxa gave Ezor her blandest, most neutral expression. “I do _not_ mope.”

“Except right now you totally are,” said Ezor, grinning. “You think I can’t see it but I do. Is it because the halfbreed’s gone away? Ooo! Or is it _Lotor_ you’re moping over? I bet it’s Lotor.”

Acxa had a lot of experience in _not_ grabbing Ezor by the tentacle and swinging her in circles by it. A commander had to have more dignity than that, more control. But sometimes, patience wore thin. “Why would I be moping about the _Emperor_, Ezor?”

“Because he’s mooning over that altean princess and not you,” said Ezor with a sly grin. “Y’know, I don’t think he’s ever noticed how you look at him.”

“He is my liege-lord, commander, and Emperor,” said Axca calmly. “He’s not _supposed_ to notice.”

“But the pretty, long haired halfbreed might,” said Ezor. “If he weren’t completely bound to the Champion. Have you ever noticed your love life kind of sucks?”

“That’s what I have you here for, Ezor,” said Acxa with ironclad calm. “You seem to have a remarkable amount of free time. Clearly you would like me to fix that.”

“I would, actually,” Ezor agreed, more seriously. “I mean stomping the Fire of Purification out with the Sincline is awesome and I love it. But I’d rather be kicking _Sendak_.”

Acxa blinked. “You want to join the paladins,” she said. “But we would leave Lotor defenseless.”

“We would _not_,” Ezor snapped. “Sincline can warp through the quintessence field. I know, it’s risky if we do it too much, but we _could_ be all the way out there or all the way back here at a moment’s notice if we were really needed. Lotor doesn’t need us cleaning up Sendak’s leftovers. The fleet can handle that just fine, and the rebels with their second hand ships. Voltron goes where the challenge is. _I_ want to go where the challenge is.”

“Are you sure you don’t just want to go where the Blue Paladin is?” asked Acxa.

Ezor had the grace and intelligence to look briefly spooked. “I won’t say he’s not adorable, but no,” she answered firmly. “He’s just fun to torture. If Zethrid even got the vague impression of a hint it was serious, it’d take both of us _and_ Lotor to stop her killing him. I like my fun, you know that, but that wouldn’t be fun.”

Acxa just nodded. That would _not_ be fun, no. It would be a nightmare. Though she privately suspected Lance would _win_ a real fight. Ezor tended to think of things as games for a few beats too long. Lance had already proven he didn’t think of things as games at _all_. His reflexes would, therefore, be faster and more deadly.

“I mean it though,” said Ezor. “We should go. We should hunt Sendak down, bring him back in chains, maybe shave him hairless and hang him somewhere public and upside down. He stood against the Emperor. And we let him run away. That’s not a good look.”

“Lotor’s fleet is much diminished,” said Acxa. “The conversion process is slow, and he lost a lot of the finished cruisers to Sendak’s forces. We _have_ to stay here. Lotor needs us to defend central command, and finish off Sendak’s strongholds. We haven’t tested Sincline’s teleportation powers, or their effects, and we’ve been warned that we can’t afford some of the consequences. We _cannot_ take the Sincline on what amounts to a personal jaunt.” At Ezor’s frustrated, disappointed look, she sighed. “I’m sorry, Ezor. Until we’ve had time to replenish our losses...we just _can’t_ chase after Sendak.”

Ezor eyed Acxa thoughtfully. “No..._Sincline_ can’t chase after Sendak. And doesn’t need to anyway because Voltron’s already gone. But _we_ could go. You, and me, and Zethrid. We could go. We’ve worked for Haggar, we’ve worked with Sendak. We could help catch him. Personal imperial bounty hunting squad? Sendak’s giving a bunch of new people a bad impression of Lotor’s empire. We should fix that.”

“You are _really_ bored,” Acxa replied, much to Ezor’s frustration. Acxa raised a hand before Ezor started literally hopping. “I’ll ask. Lotor has the Blade of Marmora to protect him now. A few more Blades can probably pilot the Sincline for him too, if he’s willing to allow that. But Ezor, if he says no, then we must remain here. At our posts. And finish our duty. Understood?”

“Thanks,” said Ezor, relieved. “No really, thanks. I know he might not understand.”

Acxa thought about it. She might have a few angles that would have Lotor appreciating the chance to send..._trusted_ eyes to see the human homeworld. But she didn’t want to make promises she might not be able to keep. So she only said, “I promise to do my best, as you do the same.”

~*~

The sun rose and shone through Black’s eyes into the cargo area of its belly. Shiro stirred slowly, his grip on sleep reluctant to release, but the rising sun was persistent.

He opened his eyes to find Keith already awake, on his side, watching him with a little smile.

“Morning, starshine,” said Shiro.

Keith blinked in genuine surprise.

“You did say to think of something unique,” Shiro pointed out, and leaned in to kiss Keith’s nose. “You remember, I think.”

“The night before the Kerberos launch,” said Keith. “I remember.” He rolled across Shiro’s chest and it was rather further into morning before either of them bothered with sentences again.

When they _did_ get themselves sorted, and dressed, and outside, the other three paladins were also awake. None of them looked happy, but – while undeniably more grim – none looked as desperately crazed as they had the night before, either.

“What’s the plan?” asked Pidge, in a flat tone that suggested there’d better be one.

Shiro nodded to that unspoken statement. “Lance, you need to coordinate with your sister. Fill her in, and see what she is and isn’t willing to do. Some of what we’re going to need won’t be in the standard rules and regs. They’ll expect us to go off script and they’ll be watching for it. Veronica, maybe not so much. Pidge, you and Hunk have two jobs. First is – get that comm station up, running, and encrypted properly. We may need to call for help – numbers, or brains, either way. Once that comm station’s running we need to find a way to detect Sendak’s fleet.”

Both Pidge and Hunk turned their attention to Keith, currently standing just behind Shiro’s left elbow. Keith said, “I already told Hunk – whatever you two need, I’ll do. Guinea pig standing ready.”

“But what if they’re not with the fleet?” asked Lance. “Our families. What if they’re somewhere else?”

“Even if they’re somewhere else,” said Shiro, “the information on where to look _will_ be with the fleet. Sendak wanted them alive, and he wanted them taken before we could catch them. He wouldn’t have been so sneaky about it just to kill them, so he wants them for something. That means it’s definite that his ships will have records of where they’re at. But first we have to find those ships.”

“...We couldn’t save Cuba,” said Hunk sadly. “The Garrison’s not gonna think much of us.”

“I don’t care,” said Shiro. “We didn’t become Paladins so Earth could throw us parades.” When pretty much _everyone_ looked at Lance, Shiro snapped, “I know what he said. He knows what he said. And it doesn’t mean anything _now_, now does it.”

“No,” Lance admitted, looking at the ground, but with a thunderous expression. “My _home_ is in the char. My _families’_ homes are in the char. Sendak burned _my house_ down. My parents’ house, my _grandparents’ _house, my _brother’s_ house, and he’s killed _all_ my old friends. They didn’t live in Havana. They’re gone. Their homes are gone. I don’t care if the Garrison wants to throw me in _prison_. When we find Sendak I’m going to _shoot_ him.”

Hunk looked skyward, his expression thoughtful. “Yeah,” he said in a soft tone. “Sendak’s got my family somewhere. All my old friends. If the Garrison doesn’t want to help me get them back...I guess that’s the Garrison’s problem.”

Pidge nodded. “We’ll do this. We’ve done this for a hundred planets. We can do this again. Sendak’s made it personal, but that just makes it easier, not harder.”

Keith gave Shiro a _look_ that said ‘_that’s because she’s not thinking it through_’. Shiro answered with a small, ‘_definitely not now_’ gesture. For now the main thing was continuing to move forward. To get the work done. Take the steps that would reveal options. They could face the reality of Sendak’s hostage-set when they were in a better position to do something about it.

Hunk nodded to Pidge. “Comm station. Then we strip him of his _magic_ invisibility.”

Keith looked at Lance. “Your sister gonna be okay?”

Lance, for just a moment, looked like he might clock Keith in the teeth. “_No_, she’s not gonna be _okay_. She’s probably already got the news about what happened to most of Cuba.”

Shiro, very calmly, just said, “Lance.”

It...mostly worked. Lance at least un-bristled a bit, and shook his head. “I don’t know what to tell her. She was right. Something _was_ wrong. So ...Mom, and everyone, have been missing since at least the day before yesterday.”

Hunk blinked. Counted on his fingers. “That...” For a moment he almost looked crushed. “They had to have taken everyone _right after we left_, Lance. Right after we took off for the Garrison, the morning -” _the morning Pidge’s parents were shot._

Keith nodded thoughtfully. “A timed, _coordinated_ attack,” he mused. “They made sure we couldn’t stop them. That we wouldn’t even think to.”

“So shooting my parents was the _distraction_ for all this?” Pidge demanded.

“No,” Shiro interjected. “It was part of the whole. Sam and Colleen were spearheading the defenses. And Sam’s been a prisoner before. Sendak couldn’t take the risk of those two starting escape plans or leading a revolt – unlike everyone else, your family knows how galra camps work. So while everyone else was captured, your family’s...just too big a risk for that.”

The glint in Pidge’s eye would frighten anyone targeted by it; the paladins could see it and were unanimously relieved to not _be_ that target. “Damn right we are,” she growled.

“I won’t be much help to Pidge or Hunk,” said Shiro. “Lance, if you need Keith or me, we’ll be free at least until they need Keith for camouflage testing.”

“Veronica’s gonna need our help,” said Lance flatly. “Just make sure she’s got it.” He looked up at the clear, bright blue morning sky. And the ships hiding beyond it. Invisible, out of reach.

“We’ll do all we can,” said Shiro.

“I may have some ideas,” said Keith.

~*~

Haggar sat in a large, not-particularly-thronelike chair, and listened.

Humans were a horrifically primitive species. But they had potential. Haggar listened to the minds of her new, formerly-human druids, watched through their eyes as they returned to their jobs and their lives, cover stories in place to cover their absences.

One was some sort of media person – the titles were supremely uninteresting to Haggar, just the work. This one chose which stories, which news events, their television station would cover and what stance would be taken. There were surprising limits on this, from higher up the authority ladder, but those were no longer of any concern to the druid. He had the power, now, to enthrall his superiors to make sure Haggar’s instructions were followed. The ‘Cuba Defense’ stories were top of the pile; as Haggar desired, the new druid made certain the paladins were blamed for drawing the attention of the galra, putting thousands of lives in danger. Cameraphone footage of Lance screaming at people just before the attack was cleaned, edited, and added in. It would be part of the afternoon broadcast.

One was a maintenance worker of some sort. Of the most menial, he passed without much comment or notice into secure areas, his heightened Druid senses telling Haggar much about the security measures he passed through.

Nuclear fission. A faintly satisfied smile crossed Haggar’s lips as she sifted through the druid’s thoughts. The shields that had protected Havana were powered by _nuclear fission_. This new druid had access to a nuclear power plant. The city it would protect...Austin, Texas.

Protecting the cities. Magnificent. And possibly useful. Cities had a lot of people, but not a lot of food. They had to import the food, bring it in from the rural areas. The humans had not had time to make a seamless shield that protected everything.

Haggar’s thoughts flickered to the druids that had come with her. She would need more human-druids. More human puppets. The particle barriers protected cities? She would place druids in the cities. And when the humans were starving, their fields razed and their animals slaughtered, Haggar’s druids could bring down the barriers and let Sendak finish them off, if he still wanted to do so.

No need to rush. For now, the main thing was acquiring the leverage.

Such thoughts were...habitual, for Haggar. Ten thousand years of service to her Emperor, only in the last few remembering _why_. But her husband Zarkon was dead beyond even her ability to revive him, and ten thousand years of amnesia meant Lotor wanted nothing to do with her. Sendak was a reasonable representative for what was _left_ of what Zarkon had built, but.

Haggar walked along the empty streets of what might have been a ghost town, but bore signs of also being a repeatedly-abandoned movie set. Considered what she’d seen, was still seeing, in the minds of these humans.

Sendak was not going to win. At best a Pyrrhic victory, hurting the paladins enough that they abandoned Voltron afterward. But Sendak would not rise from this to be a new Emperor. And Haggar had to consider...what would be the next step. What was existence, without the Empire? Without her husband, her son?

Did she want to find a new Empire to serve? Something else?

_Quintessence_.

There was that, yes. She controlled all the others, but she was a druid too. She, too, needed to feed.

Haggar considered her son’s work with the colony of alteans. The facilities in ruins, but their purpose understandable enough.

There were...such a _lot_ of humans. And they did seem to have a great deal of potential. Five of them had taken down an Empire of ten thousand years. Granted they’d been given access to superlative tools, but still.

_Billions_ of humans. And now a few slave colonies as well. Humans quick to master new technologies. Humans quick to break under the right conditions.

It wasn’t an end game. But it would serve quite well until Haggar had _decided_ on an endgame.


	8. Though Dark They Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reactions, fallout, general plotting, you know the drill. The paladins are still several steps behind but least they're starting to realize it.
> 
> With this chapter I touch on one of my personal favorite headcanons for Keith. I will, however, state in advance that I won't be going into particularly heavy detail with it, purely because to do so respectfully would require a lot more research than I've done so far. Persons who can see exactly where I'm going with this (and it's not like, as of this chapter, I'm hiding it much) who _have_ the research or background to do so better than I are welcome to ping me to make sure I don't swallow more of my feet than is absolutely required.

Five Lions touched down in formation on Garrison grounds. The Black Lion’s head dipped, jaw opening to let Shiro walk out to meet the gathered officers. The other four Lions waited with metallic patience.

“Where _were_ you?” asked Adam. “We’ve already sent salvage crews to Cuba. And relief efforts. What _happened_?”

Shiro gave Adam a level look, and directed his reply to Iverson, standing next to Adam. “Lance went to check on his family. They were gone, as was everyone in an apartment building a brother lived in, and everyone in the nearby _area_ to the rest of his family. He tried to warn people of impending danger when the attack began; he called us, and stayed to fight until the galra were driven back. We checked on Hunk’s family after that – the same thing, only this time they’d taken everyone on his home island.” _Then_ he turned to face Adam. “My team’s been through a lot in the past few years, but given two of them now have no idea where _any member of their family_ is, or if they live, I gave them a night to adjust to the situation before coming back here.”

“If it were anyone else,” said Adam, “we’d take them out of their ships and put in relief pilots.”

“If they weren’t flying _Lions_, I might agree with you,” said Shiro. “But they are. You’re going to have to accept that that’s the reality.”

Iverson looked at them, one and then the other. “If you two are gonna have some kind of lover’s _spat_, do it somewhere the fuck else,” he grumbled. “We’ve just lost ninety percent of a _country_ to an enemy we can’t _touch_.”

“We’re going to change that,” said Shiro. “Starting with communications. Pidge and Hunk want to get that comms crystal in place, with encryption, as soon as possible. We do have friends out there, commander. They’re recovering from a lot of hits, but unlike Earth, they can devote entire planets worth of resources to rebuilding their defenses. We just need to make sure we can reach them.”

Adam mused, “That’s two. What are your other two going to do?”

“That’s up to you,” said Shiro. “If Pidge and Hunk get to work, how great are the odds of someone interfering with them while they try to get things done?”

Iverson winced. “Not...great,” he admitted. “While you five were off having your teddy bear time, the global media’s had a field day _blaming_ you all for what happened in Cuba. Blaming Lance, specifically. There’s footage of him yelling at people like he’s lost his mind, right before the attack started. Your Lions are huge, Shirogane. Anyone in the world can track them. There’s going to be a media firestorm now you’ve resurfaced, and this will be ground zero.”

“Then I’ll field that,” said Shiro. “Keith and Lance can focus on protecting Pidge and Hunk.”

Adam almost smiled. “Guessing Keith still isn’t media friendly.”

Shiro did not see the humor in it. “We’ve dealt with worse crowds,” he said calmly. “But his reputation here seems to still leave something to be desired.” He turned to the Lions and gestured to them to come out.

They did.

If it startled Adam, or Iverson, to see all of them looking as calmly grim as Keith, the only sign given was a standard military poker face.

“You want to update the comm system,” said Adam, and both Pidge and Hunk gave him their attention. “This way.” They followed him.

Iverson took in the sight of a Lance with no smiles to offer. “...Veronica’s at her post,” he said gruffly. “Do what you need to do.”

Lance set off. Keith looked toward Shiro, a moment of silent communication that was probably _I’ll look after him_, and then Keith set off after Lance.

Just Shiro left, and the five silent Lions.

Adam exhaled. “...I see,” he said.

“Yeah,” said Shiro. “Worse last night. Trust me, Sendak now has their _full_ attention.”

“Well. The rest of the world is more interested in you,” said Adam. “We’ll show you what’s been said so you can get your answers ready, and then ...call the press corps.”

~*~

“Why are _we_ with the salvagers?” asked Rizavi. “We should be patrolling up high, not down here.”

Griffin carefully picked over the remains of a galra fighter. “Nothing to fight,” he said. “And we know what an intact galra crystal looks like. Need to find as many as we can – and usable fragments.”

Kinkade was doing dual duty – scavenging, and documenting the fight zone. The galra had left nothing alive, the remains of fighters on top of buildings that had been rubble even before the fighters had landed on them. Griffin hoped Leifsdotter could pull some kind of useful analysis from it later.

Rizavi sighed and got back to work. “I know that was always the plan,” she said sadly. “That our weapons can’t fight them. But it never really..._sunk in_, before now, just ...how much damage the galra can do. I mean – people _lived_ here. Lots of people. I can’t even find a _cat_.”

“Just remember the dome over Havana _worked_,” said Griffin. He was having Issues contemplating the sheer scale of the devastation, too. “This is what Admiral Ryou was afraid of – the whole planet ending up like this. But we’ve got the domes. The MFEs. And we’ll turn the galra’s own weapons against them.”

“The domes don’t protect everything,” said Rizavi quietly. A gesture took in the rubble – the uniformly flat rubble, extending as far as the eye could see. “This took just the minutes from the alert to us arriving here.”

~*~

Keith stayed a polite distance back as Lance approached his sister. Veronica worked in an open room, with several associates. Veronica already _knew_ a lot of the bad news, of course. Footage of Cuba’s devastation was on practically every news station. But that wasn’t the same as hearing it from someone who’d been there. From family. Keith quickly scouted out an empty conference room, and when Lance got the initial hug out of the way, signaled the two over to it. They could talk privately there. Cry privately there. Once they were inside, Keith closed the door and stood outside it.

For a little bit, everyone stared at him, at the door. Natural gossips, looking for news. Then Veronica’s coworkers got back to work, realizing there wasn’t going to be anything to see.

Keith’s ears were good. Lance and Veronica had a lot to say to each other. Veronica hadn’t seen the empty buildings. Hadn’t known that her family wasn’t dead – at least, not dead _yet_.

A small group of three or so officers walked too casually up to Keith. They were all bigger than him. “Hey,” said one. “You’re needed.”

Keith tilted his head slightly, to indicate he’d heard, but didn’t budge. He didn’t know these three, and they hadn’t explained the situation. And there was an air about them that he recognized. They might be adults, but they were schoolyard bullies on the inside.

“You’re _needed,_” said another of the three, gesturing Keith to come with them.

“For what?” Keith asked bluntly. “By who?”

“Does it matter?” demanded the third. “Orders. Come on.”

“No.” Honestly, it took self control not to smile. Keith was still feeling out his day to day reality, but he’d been expecting something like _this_ pretty much since landing. Namely, for someone to decide he wasn’t a fit pilot for Red.

The first attempt didn’t look like much. A simple ‘no’ seemed to bother them.

“You wanna get written up for insubordination?” snapped the second man.

“I’m not a cadet,” said Keith calmly. “I’m not a Garrison officer. I’m a paladin of Voltron.”

“You’re subject to Garrison authority while you’re here,” said the first man flatly. “Now get moving.”

“You’re drawing an audience,” said Keith. Really it was taking a _lot_ of effort not to laugh, or grin. And the three men _were_ getting an audience. Everyone in the area, except for Lance and Veronica.

“No, you are,” said the third man. “You’re the one bucking orders.”

The urge to smile faded. Keith could see the third man was holding a taser in his pocket, the outline just visible. That _could_ be a threat. Knock him out discreetly, carry him off ‘for medical attention’. Yeah...no. He met the third man’s eyes. He knew that Keith knew. But the three men were each bigger than Keith; he seemed confident he could use the taser without it being seen by the rest of the people around.

It really felt...very _schoolyard_. But maybe you had to get through the schoolyard attempts to get to the serious ones. The real danger would be Lance and Veronica finishing catching up and then getting hit with _this_ bullshit while both of them were emotionally raw. Someone could get badly hurt, and no one needed that.

Well. Maybe these three yahoos did, but nobody _else_.

“Whose orders?” asked Keith innocently.

He’d gotten the tone right. Out came the taser, shielded from general view by the third man’s body, and all three closed in. Keith shapeshifted just a _little_ bit. Just enough to turn fingernails to claws – and sank them into the third man’s taser-holding wrist, holding on with an iron grip.

They didn’t know galra had claws. They also didn’t know galra were, on average, a lot stronger than humans. Keith twisted the man’s wrist around, and made him taser himself. The taser itself, he pocketed. The other two men quickly moved to pick up their now-unconscious comrade.

“He doesn’t look well,” said Keith with false but convincing concern, pitching his voice to carry. “You should get him to the medics.”

Not that they really had any choice. If they attacked openly the gossip would be flying – and there was always the chance of Lance and Veronica opening the door and joining in. They couldn’t even ask for the taser back. All they could do was try to hide their anger and carry their comrade away.

It wasn’t _exactly_ hidden. Keith returned to his guard-esque post and noticed frowns, concerned looks around the room. But nobody was daring enough to ask questions.

Good enough, Keith decided.

A few minutes later the conference room door opened. Lance and Veronica both looked like they’d been crying, and had taken the time to clean up as best they could before opening the door.

Keith gave Lance a little nod, but said nothing. There really wasn’t anything to _say_.

Veronica walked away from them, back to her station. Lance gestured to Keith to lead the way out, which he did. Only when they were outside the building, in the warm sun, did Lance say, “You didn’t have to stand guard or anything.”

Keith slanted a look at him, judging whether Lance had noticed the three men or not. He decided on ‘not’, and that Lance was talking about being separate, not actual danger estimates. So he said, “You and your sister deserved to have some private time to talk.”

Lance _tried_ to smile. It failed miserably, but he tried. “She’s gonna keep an eye out for trouble. And for anything that might point us at ...anything that might help. I told her I’ll get Pidge to give her a personal alert. Something that’ll tell the Lions she’s in trouble, that’s small enough to hide. Figured that wouldn’t be hard for Pidge.”

“No, it wouldn’t be,” Keith agreed quietly. “So. What now?”

“V said the MFE pilots are heading up salvage ops in Cuba now,” said Lance, in the slightly distant tone of someone trying not to think too hard about the words coming out of his mouth. “We could go and help, I guess. Until Pidge and Hunk need us.”

“They need us,” said Keith firmly.

Lance blinked at him. “They who? Pidge and Hunk, or the pilots?”

“Pidge and Hunk,” said Keith, thinking of the three men and their sourceless orders. He paused, thinking hard. “And me.”

Lance gave him a _yeah, right_ look. “What do _you_ need help with? Shiro’s _here_.” He stopped. “...Oh. Your mom. Nevermind.”

“No,” said Keith. “Cosmo’s with Mom. She’s fine. He’ll come get me if I turn out to be wrong. But I think _I_ may need backup.”

Lance frowned. Visibly kicked his brain into this different gear. “...You think there really will be people coming after you?”

“Yes,” said Keith, and decided not to tell Lance it had already started. “I can ...probably… fight them off. But my reputation isn’t the best. Witnesses and backup are kind of...a good idea.”

Lance snorted at mention of Keith’s reputation. “Damn right your reputation’s not the best. Iverson used to use you as his favorite cautionary tale. Toe the line, or end up like Keith.” There was a pause as his ears kicked his brain with what his mouth was saying. “...Shit. You’re right, you _do_ need backup. Sure. I can do that. Sneaky, you figure?”

Keith nodded. He wasn’t making it up; the first attempt had been clumsy, but all three men _had_ lived to walk away. That meant the next attempt would be stronger. And the one after that, stronger yet, until they either succeeded in taking him out, or the cost to try proved too prohibitive. Humans were a bloody minded species; they wouldn’t give up until they were clubbed over the head with the necessity. But choosing to tell Lance about it rather than Shiro...well. _That_ was because Lance direly needed something to do, and at least the hope of venting some of his frustration at a worthy target.

Thankfully, Lance nodded. “It’ll give me something to focus on,” he said by way of agreement. “Okay. You guard Hunk and Pidge, and I’ll set up a sniper’s nest and keep an eye on you.”

~*~

Pidge and Hunk….worked.

It was a relief to both of them, really. Something that required their full attention and the use of their hands, required them to think ahead and think in _tandem_. And it was at least peripheral to the work they really wanted to get done. In Pidge’s case it was actually pretty directly needed; she wanted a secure line to Central Command so she could get updates on her parents, and to the coalition fleet so she could talk to Matt.

But the Garrison was in no way used to the two of them, or what they could do together. The Garrison thought of them as they’d been years before, two cadets that barfed in the gear box and sniped at the pilot. It didn’t help that the majority of the console they took apart turned out to be useless for what they wanted to do.

Hunk tossed down another circuitboard. “Nope. Not gonna work. Not with this lot.” He turned to one of the cadets who’d been assigned to assist. “Okay. You need to go and get...lessee. I need a metallurgist and a chemist.” He took the cadet’s tablet and started scribbling on it with a stylus. “Tell the metallurgist I need this one, and tell the chemist I need that one. I’ll deal with both of ‘em when they come storming in here to tell me they can’t do it, so don’t sweat that, okay?”

The cadet gave him a wary, ‘you sure you’re not on something’ look and ran off.

Pidge smiled briefly. “Yeah. We’ve been spoiled.”

“Your dad made this stuff talk to castleship level systems,” said Hunk gruffly. “But ‘talk’ is all it can do. No wonder we couldn’t get any range or encryption. We’re gonna have to go ground-up on this.” He started picking the boards back up, to reassemble the original console. “So. Basically. Where d’you want it?”

“Here’s good,” said Pidge, moving to lend a hand. “Might as well keep it all together.” She gave Hunk a sidelong look. “We’re gonna find them.”

“We’re gonna need to build the systems that could,” Hunk corrected. “And since we have to do that anyway, I want to multitask.”

Pidge set the outer switchboard in place. “...Okay, but how, exactly? They’re hidden with,” and here her word dripped with bitter venom, “_magic_.”

“Clarke’s Law,” said Hunk. “Alteans call it magic but I think that’s just a mental division.” He set about making sure the console worked again. Might as well retain the open system they’d had, while working on the new, since the one couldn’t be used to build the other.

Pidge pursed her lips. “What’s the point of doing that, though?”

“_Not_ having a bunch of Haggars running around,” said Hunk shortly. “I mean think about it. This whole fucking mess starts because an Altean discovers an unlimited quintessence source, and completely forgets that she’s fucking around with _life itself_. It’s just a new energy source to her. Next thing you know we have ten thousand years of super strong space vampires.”

Pidge crossed her arms over her chest, which – while she didn’t notice – did have the effect of reminding a few cadets she had one. “So you figure ‘alchemy’ isn’t magic at all, then. Just a way of separating ‘screwing with life energy’ from ‘not screwing with life energy’?”

“Bingo,” said Hunk. He didn’t smile. He hadn’t smiled since the empty island. “The alteans knew they needed to keep it separate in people’s heads or you’d get a lot more Haggars. That’s what I think. So I think we _can_ find those ships. It just means we need to understand more about quintessence.”

Pidge frowned at the console. “...Honerva’s research?” she asked carefully.

Hunk shook his head and absently pounded a corner into a locked position with one slammed fist. “Whatever she did, she’s moved on from it. And also we don’t need to turn Earth into a bunch of space vampires. Keith can sense this stuff. And we know about crystals. I’ve got a few of decent size – not battleship class, but decent. Enough that I think we can cobble a detection system if we can figure out the way to.”

Just then, two older officers came storming in, each waving a tablet. “Have you lost all grasp of basic physics?” snapped one. “How dare you send a cadet to tell me to do the impossible?”

Pidge gave Hunk an, ‘all yours’ look, and stepped back. She’d have her turn soon enough.

Hunk walked over to the officers. “Guys,” he said. “It’s not impossible, I just didn’t want to try translating via cadet. C’mere. This is how we’re gonna get this done.”

~*~

Adam wasn’t wrong.

With the Lions now back in civilization (more or less), it seemed the entire global press corps had questions, concerns, and demands. Shiro was shown the compiled cell phone footage of Lance trying to warn people right before the attack. Shiro was glad Keith had gone to keep an eye on Lance – he didn’t want to think about what Lance’s reaction to all these accusations would be. While Keith was with him, the only problem would be dealing with press angry that Keith got angry or physical with them – which was still a _problem_, but it was an entirely different problem and one Shiro had a lot more experience dealing with.

Shiro had fielded less-than-friendly press meetings before. Not just as Black Paladin, but in his pre-Kerberos days as well. He knew not to take it personally, even when the questions were _deeply_ personal and more than a little antagonistic. And he knew, too, that right now he _needed_ to keep his head and turn the ‘Shiro the Hero’ charm up to eleven. He’d heard about the _Voltron Show_ tours, but ….in the end that was still alien cultures and alien worlds. _This_ was their own species leveling accusations at them that could break their hearts.

_This_ was total strangers asking in all seriousness, as if they knew what they were talking about, whether Lance bore any ill-will toward his family or his home country, and whether apparently anticipating the attack meant he could have stopped it, and why – if he could have stopped it – he didn’t. _This_ was total strangers asking how long the team had known Keith was half galra, bringing up Keith’s school record, and disciplinary record (which a part of Shiro’s mind filed as ‘incredibly good investigative work – or a leak’) and whether the Paladins had ever considered Keith to be a galra spy, and if that were likely, and if not why not. _This_ was total strangers asking if Pidge had been kidnapped and how alien species treated a minor and what was Pidge’s standing in the team given her size and age and the fact that her parents had recently both been shot, as if she were more likely to be emotionally unstable than anyone else under those circumstances.

And Shiro fielded all of it. He was strictly truthful, not always entirely honest, smiling the easy, gently heroic smile he’d perfected back when he still had two flesh and blood arms.

And, privately, increasingly worried. He _had_ fielded more than a few press conferences before, and he knew the signs of reporters being _fed_ questions. Being _told_ to ask about certain things.

This wasn’t neutral. This wasn’t the understandable panic of people who had never really had to deal with straight up non-human aliens and now had aliens they couldn’t fight on their doorstep. This was beyond that. This was someone, somewhere, egging things on in a specific direction – that direction being blaming it all, all of it, on the Paladins.

For the _moment_ Shiro knew he was immune to the attacks. Unlike all the others, he’d been a media golden boy before Kerberos. A genuine hero, brave explorer – he’d hated that kind of titling at the time but currently he had to be glad he hadn’t stopped it. It was the main thing protecting him; people remembered him as the hero, as someone who had risked his life to warn Earth. And, weirdly enough, as Ryou’s brother. All of it amounted to a kind of storehouse of ‘good reputation’ that an attack campaign would have to bypass or dismantle to make him vulnerable.

Shiro knew they would, though. It was as simple as someone figuring out – or, more likely, being told – that galra prosthetics connected directly to the brain. From there it wouldn’t take too long before people questioned whether Shiro could be influenced or controlled by that arm, and from _there_ it was a teeny, tiny hop to ‘galra sleeper agent’. And the harsh truth was, that had genuinely been the original point – it was just that once the accusation was leveled, Shiro couldn’t counter it with testimony from an Olkari scientist saying ‘yeah but all better now’. These people didn’t know anything about the Olkari or their history or their skills. They’d just see Voltron being run by a possible galra spy and seconded by a half-galra delinquent.

At that point...Voltron would really need to leave Earth. Not _abandon_ it, but…

Shiro fielded questions with apparent ease, easy smile never faltering, posture professional but friendly and relaxed. And let the back of his mind quietly work over contingencies.

~*~

Lance had found his sniper nest. A building across from the one Pidge and Hunk had taken over, where he had clear line of sight to most avenues of approach to the entrance Keith was guarding. Not _perfect_ but more than serviceable, and the supply room door easily locked.

It was hard, at first. Lance was _not_ in a mood or state where ‘sit still and focus on the field’ was anywhere near easy. The empty houses, the empty apartment building – the streets under galra fire, fighting alone against a cruiser’s worth of ships – knowing all the time it was _home_ down there, every building every family down there part of _home_ and he wasn’t able to stop it from being burned. The images, the sounds, the smells kept replaying themselves over and over even as he tried to _make_ them back off.

Keith was a lot of things, but he didn’t ask for help casually or lightly. He’d asked Lance to watch his position and that meant Keith was _expecting_ trouble and _needed_ the backup. It wasn’t much of a weapon against the images, the twitching need to go back there and...do _something_, but it was all Lance had and he tried. He _tried_.

It got ever so much easier though, when the trouble Keith had predicted started showing up.

People came and went all the time in a place like the Garrison. Twos and threes weren’t uncommon, people chatting as they walked to and from the various buildings. If it weren’t for the uniforms and the occasional weapon you could sometimes mistake it for a college campus. But fours and fives were atypical. And three different groups that large, all ‘randomly’ approaching Keith’s position at about the same time was reaching lottery levels of ‘odds against random chance’.

Lance adjusted his rifle to silent fire, heavy stun, and watched down his scope. At last, a real distraction from all the shit he couldn’t do squat about.

Down below, Keith also noticed the approaching groups. Yes. They _had_ upped their game. While Shiro was busy with the press, and Hunk and Pidge were busy with their work. He didn’t doubt that security cameras were currently not recording; there was, after all, no way to say this many people had just ‘happened by’.

“_I see them,”_ said Lance’s voice in Keith’s ear. _“Looks like maybe fifteen.”_

“Wait until you see trouble, or lose sight of me,” Keith replied quietly. “Someone’ll probably try to raise an alarm, so we can’t let anyone get clear once it starts. Or this’ll just get worse.”

“_Eh?”_ asked Lance, but not as if he cared much. “_Whatever. Right now I’ll take the target practice as a win.”_

No knife. No bayard. There wouldn’t be enough room for control with this many opponents.

“You,” said one of the approaching soldiers, once he was close enough. “You were ordered to accompany duly recognized officials. There’s no getting out of it this time. Come quietly, or get dragged.”

Keith looked up at the man, not particularly surprised that whoever had organized this had apparently requested the services of the entire Southwest Garrison Weightlifting Team. He had, after all, easily overpowered the last attacker to come at him. It’d be stupid not to take that into account. “You never did say whose orders,” he pointed out. “And I’m still not under Garrison authority.”

Something about being quietly Reasonable at times like this always seemed to have the effect of starting a fight, and today was no different. Someone threw a punch at Keith. He ducked, threw one of his own, and the fight was on.

He was stronger, faster, and tougher than the average human, but Keith was still glad he’d asked Lance to be backup – this many, and this many very large, strong opponents, _would_ have been too much. He couldn’t block all the punches, or all the kicks. But all that meant was he was totally allowed to cut loose and fight hard, and that was such a stress relief it was almost a shame to look around and just see...unconscious people.

And Lance jumping out of a high window, trusting his paladin armor to cushion his landing as his bayard disappeared.

“What the fuck is this about, anyway?” Lance demanded. “Fifteen bruisers? On Garrison property? _What_ orders?”

Keith shook his head quickly, forcing the inner galra to shut the fuck up and pay attention. “Beats me,” he said. “Was just three of them this morning.”

“This -” Lance paused. “Wait. While V and I were -?”

Keith eyed the field of unconscious men, and bent to pick up one of the bruisers, hauling the body over his shoulder. “You had other shit to deal with,” he said matter of factly. “But I figured they’d be back. Thanks.”

“Now hold on,” said Lance. “I’m happy to be backup, but what’s this about?”

“Grab a body and let’s find that out,” was Keith’s suggestion. “Grab an officer if you can.” He headed inside, so Pidge and Hunk could join in later if they wanted.

~*~

Sendak drummed claws on the armrest of his chair, studying the images the druids showed him.

“Your orders, General?” rasped the druid.

And that was the trouble, wasn’t it? Sendak’s forces were getting restless. Only one cruiser had been engaged to take out the Blue Paladin’s home. The rest had had to stand back, watch, observe.

_Nobody_ liked that. There was a battle brewing. Most of the soldiers wanted to get started on it.

“The dome,” said Sendak. “That protected the most populated part of the island.”

“Yes,” rasped the druid. “The High Priestess is placing agents. Does the General have a preferential target?”

Sendak’s lips curled, revealing his fangs. “Oh yes,” he said. He tapped one claw on a spot on the holographic image of Earth. “Take out the dome _there_.”

The druid, if it had a reaction, hid it behind the elongated mask they all wore. “Yes, General. I will convey your wishes to the High Priestess and inform you when a strike is possible.”

~*~

Krolia couldn’t shapeshift much, or for long. Thankfully most of the differences between galra and humans were easy to do, but it still took a great deal of concentration.

The first thing she did, therefore, was get her hands on clothes that suited the region. But with long sleeves, and long pants, and then a ‘sun hat and scarf’ combo with sunglasses. It didn’t cover _all_ of her face, but it covered enough that she only had to focus on shapeshifting her face.

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Krolia had never really gotten the chance to see much of Earth, for a variety of reasons. Window Rock was not much like the Garrison, but she wasn’t sure that meant much. Humans weren’t as militaristic as galra.

She could read English, and write it. But not all of the signs or place names or shop names were _in_ English. Perhaps she was near a border. Cosmo drew a lot of attention, padding along at Krolia’s side, but very few people have the fortitude to come up to a small-bear-sized wolf that isn’t currently bothering anyone and make demands, just in case it _started_ bothering someone.

They did, however, make a lot of calls to the authorities. It wasn’t long before a man in his twenties, wearing a sort of uniform – it wasn’t Garrison, and that was all Krolia really knew to identify, but it _was_ clearly some kind of uniform – approached Krolia. “Excuse me, ma’am, but are you responsible for this wolf?”

Krolia – half her focus on keeping her human skin tone – nevertheless noted that the uniformed man wasn’t implying _ownership_. She tested it. “Cosmo is responsible for himself,” she said. “If no one bothers him, he won’t hurt anyone.”

The uniformed man got a Look on his face that suggested this argument was some variation of one he’d had before. “There’s traffic and loud noises aplenty around here, ma’am. Those usually ‘bother’ wolves. We’d like to see no one getting hurt.”

Cosmo sat down, studying the man with – if Krolia was any judge – a kind of amusement. She chided the wolf, “Don’t start.” To the uniformed man, she said, “Then perhaps you can guide me. I am looking for the family of this man.”

She took out the only memento she’d kept of her time on Earth; a holocrystal with an image of her mate, hoisting a laughing little infant Keith up onto his shoulder, grinning proudly.

The officer studied it. “Don’t recognize him,” he said. “Do you have any information besides this?”

“A few names,” said Krolia. “This man ….died… several years ago. In a fire. He was...” she searched memory for the exact phrase. “A firefighter. Yes. Near the Southwest Garrison.”

Now the officer looked interested, but also rather confused. “That’s some way away from _here_, ma’am. There’s some reservation territory out that way, though – that why you’ve come?”

Krolia tucked the precious crystal away again. “Reservation?”

“...This is as close to a capital of the Navajo Nation as you get, ma’am,” said the officer, a bit dryly. “But if you didn’t know that, why’d you come here when the Garrison’s pretty far off east?”

Krolia considered. She wasn’t sure how much to tell this person – on the other hand, she _badly_ needed a guide, and she could always kill him later if she needed to. He wanted her to get Cosmo out of town, and she wanted information that, quite possibly, he might be able to get more quickly than she could. She made a decision.

“I will go, with Cosmo, with you to a place of your choosing to discuss this,” she said. “If you in turn will assist me with finding the answers I seek.”

The officer stepped back. “Hey now,” he said. “I’m willing to be helpful, but -”

He stopped. Krolia’s shifting had slipped; the lower half of her face (all that was visible under the clothes) was now galra purple. The officer stepped _right_ back, hand lowering to near his service weapon, but not touching it. “You’re one of those aliens attacking Earth,” he said – quietly, so as not to cause a panic. “You’re a galra.”

“I am a mother searching for the family of her son,” said Krolia, just as softly, but there was a growl of warning to it. Her skin paled again. She didn’t _want_ to start a fight, but if she needed to kill to protect her cover, she would.

Something in her reply had hit a chord in the officer, though. He still looked spooked, but his hand withdrew from ‘grab your gun’ readiness. “...I...see,” he said quietly. “Follow me, ma’am. I don’t have the answers you’re looking for, but I think I know who might.”


	9. A Loose Thread, Tugged Lightly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, it's been too long. RL was kind of Obnoxious at me the past few weeks - everything from medical scares to power outages to work drama. I hope I can get back on track and that y'all find the chapter worth the wait.

Allura sat on the bed provided her, in the rooms provided her, and absently smoothed her skirts.

It hadn’t been that long. A movement or two. At most. But she missed the paladins a great deal. Unfortunately it was a lot more complex than that, which made it hurt more. She wasn’t sure if she missed them, or Voltron, or being _part_ of Voltron, or just..._not being around so many galra_. Or if it was all of the above.

Lotor had been incredibly generous. Allura was given a suite to herself, with little rooms for her personal staff as part of it, surrounded by rooms for her personal guard – so if she wanted to, she could retreat to what was now basically an all-altean zone. He accorded her diplomatic immunity and royal status which he required the galra of central command to adhere to, and was rigorous about investigating and punishing any accusations of mistreatment of any altean by any galra staff.

And...other than official gatherings where she was required to represent the Coalition, he also left her alone. He didn’t _avoid_ her, or shun her, but he also didn’t seek her out without due cause. He was warm and polite when they spoke, but he didn’t discuss anything other than business.

That was what she’d wanted. It was still what she wanted. But it did mean she felt lonely. The colonial alteans had had ten thousand – honestly, given the time dilation of the abyss, possibly a _hundred_ thousand – decaphoebs to grow away from any culture she knew or could recognize. They welcomed her as alchemist and as their new Queen, but there was a ...lack of curiosity to most of them. A hundred thousand years of ‘be quiet or they’ll hear you and kill you’ had left a heavy mark on her people. They did as she asked them to do, whether it be serving lunch or entering engineering school on Olkarion, but on their own they seemed to default to a fairly simple existence.

They had not, however, lost their compassion. Allura had given her staff orders to maintain constant watch on the newsfeeds – anything from Earth, anything from the Coalition, anything from the Empire. _All_ of it. Pay attention and be ready to provide their queen with at least the rough basics of any and all important events.

For the most part, they were horrified. The wake of dead worlds left behind by the Fire of Purification’s komar, by quintessence factories pushed to drain more than a planet could replenish, even by the chatter of the CC galra who still spoke fondly of the old gladiatorial games. This was the universe they’d fled; some thought maybe that had been a mistake, and others thought maybe ever returning was the mistake.

Much the way Allura sometimes thought staying at Central Command was a mistake, and sometimes thought the real mistake had been letting the paladins _leave_ it.

There was so much she wished she could do. Since the line was, basically, insecure and open, nothing was transmitted that Sendak could do anything about, or use against the paladins. Allura sent updates about Pidge’s parents, and Matt, and the Coalition’s work taking out the remnants of Sendak’s forces. In return, she received...well, the sort of strictly factual data streams that Sendak could probably confirm by looking at his instruments.

This camouflaged fleet, this was new. Disturbing.

If she were honest with herself, it was also only an excuse. She had, at her core, a deep faith in the paladins. She might not trust them with a pizza, or unknown technology, or a state function of any kind – but the safety of planets and the peoples living on them? No question.

Allura read over the reports, wondering if her trepidation was fear that she lacked the skill or training to be a good queen – or worry that she might be letting down her parents’ memory and sacrifice if she decided to do pretty much anything _else_.

~*~

Lotor listened politely as Acxa outlined the generals’ request. The words were logical and well-considered, as he expected of Acxa, but the intent boiled down to ‘we’re bored and would like to do something more interesting’. No one was fooling anyone, but the dance was required to continue. There were _always_ eyes and ears observing. He was the Emperor now. It was the nature of his people to always seek strength in their Emperor – and be on the lookout for any weakness.

“The reclamation of Purification territory is all but complete, your majesty,” said Acxa. “The Sincline is not required at full strength at this time.”

“Nevertheless, there are few generals with the capability and loyalty to be trusted with its ships,” Lotor replied. “And Voltron is at least as mighty with a more proven record of victory. There is no justification for sending reinforcements.”

Acxa nodded slightly. “Not militarily, your majesty,” she said. “But politically, there is. We call the paladins allies. Can the galra allow a renegade galra faction to terrorize the paladins’ homeworld without response? Will the humans recognize us as potential allies if we do nothing?”

Lotor gave Acxa the very small, pleased smile that told her he was glad she’d hit on a valid argument for doing something he wanted to approve of. “I...see,” he said, with reluctance in his tone. “Still. The matter of the Sincline is not trivial, Acxa. You three are its primary pilots. If you can provide three trustworthy replacements, I will sanction your request.”

It wasn’t a small thing, Acxa well knew. Lotor had entirely valid trust issues. Even the Blades, who seemed at this point entirely supportive of Lotor’s rule, were _new_ allies, untested. And Allura – well. Allura was a whole bundle of unknowns and potential problems. The Sincline _needed_ to be under Lotor’s personal control. His continued reign depended on it, especially while Voltron was so far away.

~*~

The unconscious bodies were bound, thoroughly, with anything Keith came across between the tarmac of battle and the rooms he and Lance found to drop them into. Lamp cords, light barricade rope – the kind that was used to hang signs between cones, like ‘wet floor’ - duct tape, and even clear desk tape. Keith was a disturbing wizard at repurposing basic office supplies into bonds that a gorilla would have trouble getting out of, and Lance – as keen as he was right now to have some answers, and someone to punch or kick answers out of – was trying not to think too hard about where Keith might have picked skills like that up, or why.

“Your skill at making friends hasn’t improved,” grumbled Lance, dropping the last unconscious man to the floor. The room had very little visible floorspace left, now.

“I’ve got the friends that matter,” said Keith, unbothered. “But this wasn’t personal. These guys had orders to ‘retrieve’ me.”

“They’re officers,” Lance pointed out, leaning against the wall to catch his breath. “Iverson’s gonna spit fire when he finds out we’ve just assaulted half the brass.”

Keith bent to peel back an eyelid on one of the officers, making sure he really was unconscious. “Try ‘shit bricks’, Lance. _Iverson_ didn’t order them to do this. He’s not that good a liar. So someone’s acting without his knowledge and has _this_ many people under his banner.”

Lance blinked. “Point.” He frowned down at the bodies. “Connected to what happened in Cuba?”

“Maybe,” Keith conceded. “But maybe just standard xenophobia, too.” He stood up. “...You should probably see if Shiro’s done with the press. He’s gonna want to know about this.”

“Well...yeah,” Lance conceded, but gave Keith a suspicious look. “But that leaves you alone with these guys.”

Keith met that look levelly, unapologetic. And unafraid. “Yeah,” he said. “It does.”

“Riiiight,” said Lance slowly. “I’ll just ...mosey off and find Shiro. Could take a while.”

~*~

Haggar stepped back from her work to study it. The human had been on its own, speaking to no one, spoken to by no one, and prone to lonely edge type locales. No one would miss it.

Earth rather lacked anything much in the way of technology worth speaking of, but the druids had done their best. Instead of a pod, the human was intubated for air, fed via intravenous lines, and ...basically shrink-wrapped. Provided the tubes for nutrition, oxygen, and waste continued to function, it would remain this way indefinitely, which was the point.

There were many underground tunnels on this world, in this region. Haggar and the druids had taken over some of the more remote tunnels, where bunkers had been built but were not currently occupied. Spells had been laid to mask the tunnels with the appearance of rockfalls and cave-ins to keep humans from investigating.

There were _billions_ of humans. Even wiping out an island packed with them hadn’t made a dent in the overall population.

Brimming with quintessence.

Of course, the extraction methods needed refinement. But there was time, particularly since all the humans were watching out for Sendak from above, not Haggar from below.

A faint shining appeared on the tip of a little needle, suspended over a clear container. The first drop of the captured human’s quintessence. Beneath their masks, the druids watched the drop gather mass, and finally drip into the container. A nearly inaudible sigh of satisfaction whispered around the chamber.

“The process is successful,” said Macidus.

“Find more subjects,” ordered Haggar. “Those unsuitable for conversion or intelligence will now serve an adequate purpose.”

~*~

Krolia was finding the humans of Window Rock….well, a bit peculiar. She didn’t have a _lot_ of experience with humans – not in a general sense – but _these_ humans seemed awfully preoccupied with circumstances. _Why_ did this happen, _why_ did that happen, _how_ did this happen, _how_ did that happen.

At least half the time, all Krolia could say was, “I do not know. Finding it out is why I came.” But she answered honestly where she could; the circumstances of her arrival on Earth, meeting her mate, Keith’s birth and how they had been raising him.

Why they wanted to know things like what bedtime stories Keith had been told as an infant was a question for the ages, in Krolia’s view, but she’d been to a lot of different worlds, with an infinite variety of customs and beliefs. The matters seemed important to them, so she answered as best she could. More than a little to her surprise, the humans followed her lead when dealing with Kosmo – she spoke to him normally, because she knew he understood her. The humans had no such assurance, but treated Kosmo exactly the same; as an intelligent being that understood their words. When refreshment was offered, it was offered to both Krolia and Kosmo, and they waited for Kosmo to respond directly instead of looking to Krolia to speak for him.

The wolf clearly wholeheartedly approved of this approach.

And in the meantime, the curious humans had let her into their record archive. Four humans were with her at all times, and at least one at any given time was more occupied with keeping track of her research than asking questions about her life on Earth in Keith’s infancy. There was a kind of...practiced air to them in this, that told Krolia she wasn’t the first seeker they’d dealt with. But insofar as they _were_ willing to help her answer her questions, she saw no reason not to assist them in turn. It was...kind of a mutual interview process, each deciding whether the other represented an ally or an enemy.

Keith’s birth was recorded here. That in and of itself was a bit surprising. _More_ surprising was that there were two separate birth certificates; one she knew to be accurate, the other a copy of the fake that Colleen had found. She drew her human companions’ attention to this. “This one is the truth,” she said, indicating it. “This other, a lie around which other lies have been woven.”

All four of her guard-companions looked a bit...troubled. “That shouldn’t be there,” said one. “These records are secure. There is no need to create a false trail.”

“Even with a mother from another world?” said another. “There’s reason. But her husband couldn’t have done this. Not on his own. He had help.”

The third bent over Krolia’s shoulder, studying the raw data of the record. “Two trails. We know which one is true and which is false. Following both may tell us who and why.”

Krolia called up more of Colleen’s research on her gauntlet. “Compare this,” she said. “My mate was murdered, but the architect lost track of my son soon afterward.”

The third guard-companion looked to the other humans. “This needs to be researched properly. How many can we bring in?”

The first pursed his lips. “We need to look in more places than this. Clearly, this woman’s presence was known and then hidden. That tells me we need the police records. I’ll make a few calls.”

The fourth spoke up with, “I know most of the archivists. Someone in this building laid a false trail; I’ll get started on that.”

The second noted, “The conspiracy seems to have fallen apart after the father’s death. I’ll see what I can find.”

Krolia kept on with her searches. Her gauntlet computer was faster than anything local. There was certainly more to find.

~*~

Keith waited with the patience of a rock for the first of the captives to wake. By the uniform, just an ensign. Recent graduate then. The way time had run here, maybe someone that remembered when Keith had been a cadet, too. He kind of thought so, because the ensign looked around at the unconscious men around them, all bound, all gagged, and then looked at Keith with open fear and dread.

Good. That might just make this easier on everyone.

Keith bent down over the ensign. “I’m going to ask you questions,” he said quietly. “And if I even _think_ you’re lying to me, I’m going to break one of your bones each time. Do you believe me?”

**nodnodnodnod**.

Keith’s cadet record was _full_ of violent incidents. More than a few had ended with someone in the hospital, although mostly the earlier ones. After he’d gotten his full strength back with the good food and rest, but before he’d quite gotten the hang of pulling his punches so Shiro wouldn’t give him that disappointed look. If one only looked at or knew about the official transcript, and the scuttlebutt around the Garrison, then Keith was a one-kid mafia don, a claymore mine with arms and legs.

At the time he’d hated it, and resented it. He’d _never_ chosen the fights. He’d wanted more than anything for Shiro to be proud of him...or at least not _ashamed_ of him. But the records never said who started it, or why, only who was involved and how it ended. And Keith was dreadfully good at winning fights once they’d started. Even fights with bigger kids, and fights where he was outnumbered. But the record might do him some good, now. He didn’t particularly want to hurt these people. Earth needed all the defenders it could get.

On the _other_ hand, Keith _really_ didn’t have the time or patience for what looked like some very priority-skewed bullshit, either.

“I’m going to pull off the gag,” said Keith calmly. “And so help me if you scream you’re going to need a new jawbone.”

~*~

Lance didn’t hurry to get Shiro. He knew he probably _should; _Keith hadn’t exactly been hiding his intentions. It would probably be bad if he were caught taking a chunk of the Garrison staff hostage.

But he didn’t hurry. He didn’t hurry because his first, gut reaction to Keith telling him to go get Shiro was _no, I want to give these assholes a good kicking_. And that...bothered him. It didn’t scare him, but somehow the _not_ being scared was another bother. He’d never felt this way in his life. He was angry, and afraid, and frustrated, and presented with a room full of targets he’d had to be _sent away_ to realize normally he’d have been the one telling Keith no, this wasn’t the way to do things.

Had Keith sent him away because he’d seen that change? Or because he hadn’t? It was a tangent too frustrating to focus on; Lance knew by now that he might trust Keith but he probably wouldn’t ever _understand_ him. And right now Lance had too much to focus on getting his _own_ house in order.

His family was gone. His whole family, except for Veronica. Sendak had them all. Sendak had them somewhere – who knew where – and had killed _everyone_ else. Everyone Lance had ever known, before coming to the Garrison, everyone but his own family were _char_.

Damn right he wanted to kick someone. But...not...humans. Right? Not other _people_. He wanted to hurt Sendak, right? Take out the Flame and make sure nobody else had to ...had to live with this. Right? Whatever was up with those guys in the room with Keith, _they_ hadn’t reduced an entire nation-state to briquettes.

Lance found he was leaning against a hangar wall, breathing hard. He really wanted to ...punch Sendak. Hard. Repeatedly. There might not be time enough in the whole universe for all the punches he wanted to personally deliver and he’d never, ever, been this angry in his life. This scared for everyone he loved. And Blue, trusty Blue, couldn’t help him find the hidden enemy.

The Lion reacted to the instinctive reaching of his thoughts; she roared. Every vehicle with a security system started blaring. _Get a grip, Lance. Get a grip!_

It had interrupted something. People were heading for their cars to shut them up, but most of them were coming from a single place. Heading there, Lance found only Shiro, standing behind a little podium, gripping it with both hands in a manner that suggested he was using it to stay upright. His attention was on the Lions, where they sat, but turned when Lance neared even though he couldn’t possibly have heard Lance’s footsteps over the frantic car alarms.

“Are you all right?” Shiro asked. “When Blue roared -”

“Frustrated,” Lance admitted. “She heard me griping that she can’t find Sendak. I’m...sorry I just blew up your press conference.”

“I’m not,” Shiro replied honestly. “The reporters needed a reminder that the Lions aren’t just vehicles. What do you need?”

“A target,” Lance admitted before his internal censors warned him not to. “But Keith’s keeping the full set. He’s having some trouble. Told me to come get you. A bunch of Garrison folk tried to jump him. We’ve got ‘em tied up in one of the little offices around where Pidge and Hunk are working.”

Shiro’s wincing expression said _oh crap_ louder than all the car alarms in the Garrison. “You’d better lead the way.”

~*~

“Look,” said Hunk, with somewhat strained patience. “This is gonna go a lot faster if you just accept what I’m telling you is true, and we can go back and do the proofs later, okay?”

The Garrison was sparing no expense. Military supersonic aircraft had been deployed to bring the most respected names in every field on Pidge and Hunk’s list to the Southwest Garrison as fast as possible.

Unfortunately, they were all older than both paladins by at least ten years, and thus unused to being told that years and in some cases decades of research and study were, in fact, Wrong.

“What you’re saying is _impossible_,” said a physicist. “There’s – a power source that could do what you’re claiming would dwarf a _star_. Standing anywhere near it should kill you on ambient radiation alone!”

“Yeah, well,” rumbled Hunk, patience fraying, “It’s right there. You’re looking at it. Find me the radiation and we’ll talk then, but I’ve been inside twenty feet of it for quite a while now and it’s not bothering me.”

Pidge adjusted her glasses. “Well, he’s not..._entirely_ wrong,” she noted. “They do put out energy. It’s just that it tends to make people live _longer _lives, not shorter ones.”

“Don’t confuse them, I need them,” sighed Hunk. He called up a series of equations on a holographic display. “You guys see this, right? You’re all seeing this?”

There was a cluster of reluctant nods.

“Good. Now. What I want you to do is, from _these givens_ – and I don’t care what your research says right now, okay, we’ll sort out the whys and hows _later_, I promise, but right now we do _not. Have. The. Time._ \- I need you to figure out what materials we can use to get these,” and here he called up a different display, “results. Do _not_ tell me things like it’s not possible. If you really believe that then just _go. Home. _Everyone else, work the problem. Drop your disbelief in the next county, we don’t have time.”

Pidge spoke up. “And the rest of you, you’re with me. Once we’ve got the basic setup, we need some programming that runs with this crystal here,” and she held up the one her brother had handed her. “This will keep our long distance communications secure. We really need that, so let’s not waste time. Anything you need, materials wise, grab an engineer, metallurgist, architect, whoever. Or a Garrison officer if the basics aren’t in this room. Caffeine and other stimulants are over in that corner, crash pads for when you start hallucinating are in the opposite corner over there. Lives are depending on this, so let’s get moving.”

Nobody – _nobody_ – looked happy. The two paladins understood why, they really did. Altean and galra tech was so far beyond Earth’s that even with a year or two to study the materials Ryou and Sam had brought, the world hadn’t quite caught on to the sheer _scope_ of discoveries humanity had yet to make. And now there wasn’t time to build a ladder, each rung building on the last. Now they had to throw a grapple and hope it stuck, and then backtrack to fit in all the missing pieces.

Pidge wasn’t the only one to utterly detest ‘magic’. She’d just had longer to get used to the reality of it.

One corner of the space had a portable, programmable forge and stacks of materials. A few of Hunk’s people were already studying the properties of alloys under the specific conditions Hunk had outlined. It formed a fairly loud, constant background noise as the inevitable arguments between experts began.

Pidge and Hunk didn’t argue. They just worked in tandem, much as they always had, and threw results and theories up on the relevant displays for others to respond to as they went.

Communication center. Then tracking down Sendak’s ships. And no time to lose.

~*~

Keith was waiting for Lance and Shiro outside the door of the room they’d stashed the attackers in. His arms were folded across his chest, but there didn’t seem to be any blood on him.

Shiro and Lance paused by him. “If I ask you what you were doing just now,” said Shiro slowly, “Am I going to regret it?”

Keith gave him a level look. “We have hundreds, if not thousands, of people to locate and rescue,” he said. “We don’t have time for stupid games.”

“Not an answer,” Shiro pointed out.

“They’ll live,” Keith said shortly. “You can judge me after you hear the story.”

He meant it, clearly – both Lance and Shiro understood that from his tone. If they judged him to have acted wrongly, he’d accept it.

Shiro reached out to put a gentle hand on Keith’s shoulder. “...First,” he said quietly, “Why?”

“Because someone had to,” Keith replied calmly. “It’s not what you think of as paladin behavior, Shiro. I know that. But I’m the best suited for it. And sometimes it’s the only way forward. There’s a whole group of people that think Iverson and the Holts are traitors to the human race. We’ve got Sendak to think about. We don’t have _time_ for these assholes to play saboteur on top of that. Innocent people could die.”

Shiro gave a short little exasperated sigh that said, very clearly, he did not agree. Or at least, didn’t want to agree. “I’d like to discuss this later,” he said. “But for now...fill us in.”

Keith took the temporary win for what it was, nodded curtly, and said, “Most of these men don’t know who gave the order to attack me. I’ve questioned all of them. They could tell me who roped _them_ in, and that got me to the lieutenant I’ve got tied up in there. All of the rest, their orders trace back to him. _He_ doesn’t want to tell me who put _him_ onto this. And he doesn’t remember me from my time here, so I’m probably going to have to hurt him to get an answer.”

Lance blinked. “You didn’t hurt any of them?”

“Didn’t need to,” said Keith. “Most of them _do_ remember my cadet time. By rumor, at least. As far as the rumor mill was concerned I was about one meltdown away from domestic terrorism.”

Shiro gave a resigned little sigh that said yes, he remembered _that_, too. Keith gave him an annoyed look in response.

“Anyway. All I had to do was threaten them and they were happy to tell me everything they knew. They just didn’t know much. Same rumors, basically. When someone told ‘em I was unfit to fly a Lion and needed to be removed so there could be a new pilot, they fell right into line.”

Lance winced. “Do they not get how hard it is to impress a Lion? Especially Red?”

Keith just shrugged. “Shiro? Your call.”

“A lieutenant, you say,” Shiro replied, reserved. “I don’t particularly want to resort to torture, Keith. Let’s try something near official channels first.” He turned to Lance. “I hate to turn you into a messenger, but could you grab Adam and bring him in?”

Lance looked about as puzzled as Keith did. “Adam? Not Iverson?”

“Adam knows more people,” said Shiro. “He may know these people in specific, just not in this exact context.”

Lance made an exasperated sigh sort of sound and headed off. Again. “This is the last run for either of you today, though. This is why people invented cell phones.”

“I’d say you should learn subtlety, but I have no room to argue,” said Keith quietly. “So what did you not want him to hear?”

Shiro took a deep breath, and pulled Keith in for a tight hug. Which, honestly, startled Keith quite a bit. He wriggled free enough to give Shiro a wary look. “...Not helping.”

“For _me_, not you,” Shiro admitted. “I just realized how close we _all_ are to snapping, and how bad it’s going to get if we do. With a side order of relief that you _haven’t_.”

Oh. Keith hugged Shiro back, then. “Expected you to be mad...or disappointed, at least,” he admitted.

“I trust you more than that,” said Shiro. “But I think we’re all feeling it. Like...being shoved back into who we were before we were paladins. When Lance came to get me I won’t deny I was worried. You sent him to get me so he wouldn’t see?”

“No,” said Keith. “That’d be stupid. He’s been in battle. He’s been through the clone ship. _This_ is just...schoolyard bullshit. The only reason it even happened is Cuba’s too far for an easy commute with Garrison vehicles. I sent Lance away because...” he paused. He _knew_ why, in his gut, but finding the right way to say it was tricky. “He’ll do anything to get his family back. Right now he’s not even thinking about what he’d say to them about what he did to get them home. It doesn’t matter, compared to getting them home. But _someone_ should think about it, so he can say it without….upsetting them.”

Shiro still had his arms around Keith. He could feel the reticence, the concern. Keith was trying to spare Lance from rehashing the night Keith had told Shiro what they’d done to bring Shiro back. It was a good thing to keep in mind. “You did right,” he said quietly. “But it’s anyone’s guess how long you can do that. For my part...I’m sorry I even worried. All afternoon I’ve been in some kind of pre-Kerberos box. I think it warped my thinking for a bit.”

Keith gave Shiro a tight hug for a moment, and then let him go. “You’re right, we’re all feeling that. Except _maybe_ Pidge and Hunk, though what I can hear of them arguing with a bunch of scientists and engineers isn’t great. We’ll need to spend time...somewhere else. Remind ourselves that those boxes aren’t us anymore.”

“The castleship’s a much bigger loss than we realized,” Shiro agreed. He turned his thoughts toward their prisoners. “So...one man’s behind this?”

“Maybe,” said Keith. “Only one’s behind _this_ attack, but there could be others. I can’t tell what’s driving it – that Voltron’s not under Garrison control, or that Voltron’s not entirely under _human_ control.”

“Both is always an option,” mused Shiro. “Adam will know the best way to proceed.”

Keith slanted a Look at him. “Speaking of pre-Kerberos boxes...”

“It’s still over,” said Shiro. “But we never expected to speak to each other again. There’s some baggage left to unpack and no time to do it.”

“We’ve moved on from then,” said Keith, clarifying. “What I’m asking is whether _he_ has.” He nodded toward the door. “That’s just a larger scale of my general record. Is he even going to listen?”

“Yes,” said Shiro, firmly now. “You’re not a cadet anymore and you’re not a kid. And _that_ is scaling up the way felony assault is scaling up from being shoved in a parking lot. A line’s been crossed, and not by you. These men clearly intended to take you down.”

Keith shrugged. “They’re tied up with lamp cords, blindfolded and gagged. I couldn’t have ‘em reporting to whoever started this or getting their stories synced. They didn’t have time – as far as I can tell, anyway – to have done all that in advance.”

That gave Shiro pause. Keith wasn’t great at optics – at how things _looked_ when just walked into. It had gotten Keith into rather more trouble than strictly necessary, during his time as a cadet. And he hadn’t been part of the Voltron Show and hadn’t really learned it as a paladin; usually he just followed everyone else’s lead, or did things that didn’t have a lot of witnesses.

“This is the last ‘go fetch’ I’m doing for a while, I mean it,” came Lance’s voice down the hall. He had Adam _and_ Iverson in tow, which meant the two men had probably been talking when Lance found them. Both looked concerned, and a bit grim.

Shiro stepped in front of Keith and stayed there. “It’s fine,” he told Lance. “Thank you. Commanders, we’ve got a problem.”

“A room full of beat-up _officers_ is more than a _problem_,” grumbled Iverson.

Adam slanted a level look at Keith – what he could see of Keith, anyway. “Still protecting him, Takashi?”

“Still making snap judgments, Adam?” Shiro replied with overly polite calm. “You have a group in this building that isn’t following _your_ orders, you two, and it isn’t the paladins. I thought you might have an interest in seeing whether they have something in common, and who might be giving them orders.”

Iverson snorted. “Got a point,” he said to Adam. “Let’s have a look, then.”

“Don’t talk in there, yet,” Shiro advised. “They’re blindfolded and gagged so they can’t concoct a story. But their ears work fine.”

Shiro opened the door and led the two men inside, closing the door after them. Keith leaned back against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest, frowning in thought.

“Don’t pay attention to Adam,” said Lance. “He’s having a shit day and this is one more problem. He’s only got where he is because of who he knows, not because he’s good under fire.”

Keith blinked. Lance was having a much _worse_ day. And ...being kind. “Thanks,” he said. “I just want to get to the bottom of this. I’ll bunk in Red’s cargo bay on the surface of Mars if I have to.”

“If they’re part of something bigger that just means they go after probably Pidge,” Lance pointed out. “It won’t stop with you. Red’s got your back. We do too. No need to run.”

Keith smiled just a bit, his posture losing the guarded edge. “Good to know.”

~*~

The two commanders walked through the room of generally awake and probably protesting Garrison personnel. Here and there one of them would bend down, turn someone’s head to look at their face, or their uniform, in better detail. The lone lieutenant got the most attention, and tried to fight back against being touched.

Adam and Iverson shared a look, and then each grabbed an arm and hauled that lieutenant to his feet. Adam then gestured to Shiro to open the door so they could take their prize out into the hall. Keith and Lance were in practically identical poses at that point, leaning against the far wall and watching that door.

When Shiro closed it again, Adam pulled the gag off the lieutenant’s mouth. “Interesting company you keep, Gregson,” he said.

“I was assaulted by that renegade cadet,” spat Lieutenant presumably-Gregson. “The others just saw and tried to help. I want to press charges.”

Gregson was still blindfolded, and didn’t see the murderously angry fire in Keith’s eyes – though it probably wouldn’t have helped. He did hear Lance snap, “That’s a lie!” before Keith’s arm shot out to hold Lance back.

Lance gave Keith an incredulous look. “You _know_ it’s a lie. I saw the whole thing.”

Keith just made a ‘shh’ gesture with a finger at his lips and watched Shiro.

Gregson apparently didn’t know Keith’s voice well. “A dishonorably discharged cadet’s word against an officer’s?” the lieutenant snarled. “You know how that will play out.”

“Yes,” said Adam in a mild and rather tired tone. “In this case, you’ll be stripped of rank and thrown in the brig next to Sanda. Given that we’re currently at war, though, your stay there will be short.”

“Every able bodied human against the galra,” Gregson replied.

“Except you,” said Adam, and tugged off Gregson’s blindfold so he could see who was involved. “I think you’ve misunderstood. This kind of behavior in wartime gets you the firing squad.”

Gregson paled. “You’d weaken our defenses by killing one of your own?”

“I didn’t order this,” said Adam. “So whoever you’re answering to, it isn’t me.”

“You can’t listen to that galra spy! I’ll appeal!”

Even Iverson was starting to look bored. “You honestly think we’ve got the time or energy to deal with _this_ bullshit when the galra are kidnapping humans right off the planet?” he snapped. And – startling pretty much everyone – drew his service weapon from its holster. “You tell me, _right now_, who gave the order for this assault. Or you get summary execution and your _corpse_ gets sent back to your mother with a dishonorable discharge tacked to it.”

The moment probably didn’t last very long, but to everyone present it certainly felt like it did. Iverson was the calm, reasonable one. By the book. No one stepped forward to suggest maybe he was taking this a bit too far. If _Iverson_ was pulling a gun on one of the Garrison’s officers, the world had clearly gone far too crazy for such reason.

It certainly wasn’t a reaction Lieutenant Gregson had expected. Bravado vanished in the face of the unwavering gun barrel and the realization that Iverson really _would_ pull the trigger. “General Miller, sir.”

The gun did not waver. “If I pull out my phone and call for MPs to lock your sorry asses up, is the phone gonna work?” growled Iverson.

Gregson gulped. “N-no, sir. There’s a jammer. No surveillance, no communication until 16:30, sir.”

Lance checked his wrist. “Hn. About fifteen more minutes, then. No calling for backup or help, no evidence.” He gave Keith a shrug. “Guess it’s a good thing we _didn’t_ try the phones.”

“Could lock ‘em in a Lion bay,” said Keith. “Just until this is sorted out. The Lions won’t let them out, and nobody but us is going to get in.”

Shiro frowned. “I don’t want the Lions to be holding cells, Keith,” he said slowly. “That’s not what they’re meant for.”

“Muffle him again,” said Iverson to Adam, and the blindfold and gag were put back on. “He can sit tight right here, until the jamming signal ends.”

“Oh,” said Lance. “No problem there. Blue will find it for me.” He turned his head to face where – through several walls and a lot of paving – the Blue Lion waited. There was a roar (possibly just for the Lion’s own amusement in setting off car alarms) as Lance’s eyes briefly shone. He stood still a few moments, and then nodded to Keith and Shiro. “I have the location for the source,” he said, just a touch proudly.

“I’ll go with you,” said Keith. “It could be guarded.”

“The sonic blaster?” asked Shiro.

“Yep,” said Lance. “Blue’s good at picking up signals. I’d have asked her to zap it, but she’d have zapped anything electronic in the area along with it. And we need the comm station up and running.”

“Thanks for the restraint,” said Shiro dryly, and shoo’d the two paladins off before returning his attention to the pair of commanders. Gregson got unceremoniously shoved back into the room of prisoners. “A general.”

“Could be the same one who backed Sanda’s appointment here,” said Iverson. “Could also be from outside the Garrison. Pentagon.”

“We’ll get to the bottom of it, Shiro,” said Adam, somewhat selfconsciously reverting to the nickname.

“I’m helping,” said Shiro bluntly. “But keep Pidge and Hunk out of it. They need all their attention for their current work. Lance and Keith will probably be happy to help as well. They need something to do, and until Pidge and Hunk finish their finder, they’re at loose ends.”

Adam sighed. “You’re not Garrison anymore, Shiro, and neither are they. This will get ugly if it’s not kept -”

“Fuck that,” Iverson interrupted with startling bluntness. “Adam, you’re good at keeping everyone happy, but this isn’t a ‘keep everyone happy’ situation. There’s a lot of men tied up in there. There’s a Garrison officer in there, and at least one general behind it. We _can not_ go into battle and watch our own asses at the same time. We can’t go after the galra – _yet_ – but we can damn sure clean up our own back line so we’re not facing a knife in the back _and_ a blaster in the front. We clean this mess up, and we clean it up _now_. While we still can, and there’s still time.”

Adam raised his hands in surrender. “As you say, Iverson. I’ll assume the paladins bring the jammer back. What’s next?”

Shiro said, “I may have some ideas.”


	10. The Battle for Earth, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really wish I were a better speechwriter.

The paladins ate dinner together because Shiro decided that it should be so.

He had his reasons for doing so, of course, which became clear when the decision had to be put into action. Hunk and Pidge were neck-deep in their work and had lost all track of time; neither had eaten at all, and neither _wanted_ a distraction like food to break their mental stride. Shiro needed Lance and Keith’s help just to pull them away and declare a recess for the researchers (most of whom, but not _all_, had at least had the sense to grab an occasional meal bar or bottle of water through the day). And since all five of them were together, it made sense that they should eat together and catch up. It let Pidge and Hunk vent about particularly stubborn scientists, and at the same time let Lance and Keith tell them what _else_ had been going on.

“I think we may have the comm station up by the end of the day tomorrow,” was Hunk’s verdict. “I mean, if we can hold the pace we’re currently at, and don’t hit any walls, and nobody else in my group has a mental breakdown about their career being upended.”

Pidge wound forkfulls of spaghetti and noted, “Gotta hand it to the Germans. When they cuss you out, they don’t pause for breath.”

They were all given whatever food they wanted – Adam arranged for that, his way of welcoming them back to Earth. Pidge had spaghetti, Shiro had sushi and sashimi, Hunk was actively avoiding food from his home island and had taken the day’s cafeteria meatloaf, Lance was doing the same as Hunk for slightly different reasons, and Keith had apparently gotten half of the McDonald’s dollar menu.

“So, how long until we can check on the castleship?” asked Shiro. “Or Allura?”

“Two days, minimum,” said Pidge. “The security that Matt arranged for? It’s good, and we need it, but I’m having to basically invent the Earth version of equipment that will run it as we go.”

“And ...the step after that?” asked Shiro carefully.

Both Pidge and Hunk looked solemn. “It’s...we’re dealing with magic, Shiro,” said Hunk. “We’re theorizing as we go and we’ve thrown the problem to the groups, but they know even less about what Haggar’s done than we do.”

“Sometimes beginner chess players beat grand masters because they’re willing to take risks that grand masters wouldn’t,” said Shiro. “Go ahead and lay the data out for them – everything we know and the shape of what we don’t. Maybe we’ll get lucky and one of them will have a crazy idea.”

Pidge looked like she was pondering using her fork to catapult a wad of spaghetti into Shiro’s face. “And sometimes trying to explain grandmaster chess to a lab mouse results in fucking confused mice, Shiro. They’re trying, but I’ve had better luck explaining my work to Lance.”

“Thanks, I think,” said Lance.

“Pretty sure that wasn’t intended as a compliment,” said Keith.

“_Behave_,” said Shiro, firmly. “We’ve got a brig full of conspirators to deal with still.”

“Worse than that,” said Keith between mouthfuls of cheeseburger. “Sendak’s watching Earth, right? Watching us?”

“We’re assuming so,” Shiro agreed. “You figure he’s going to try something, then. Because the attack today failed.”

“I think when he realizes we’ve got Adam and Iverson agreeing we’ve got to clean house down here, he’s going to try to make it so we can’t,” Keith agreed. “If he waits, he loses his best chance.”

Hunk sighed. “Do I have to make a rule about ‘no depressing theories during dinner’?” he asked. “Because I will, man.”

“It’s only depressing because he’s got a point,” said Pidge sourly. “Sendak _has_ to attack soon. Really soon. Or we’ll have time to find his spies and finish the beacon.” She looked at Hunk. “There’s no choice. We’ve got to train them to finish the comm center without us. Sendak’s got to hit us as soon as he realizes what’s going on.”

“One more thing,” said Keith in the quiet tone that said he didn’t like saying what he needed to say. “Those galra with Sendak aren’t Blades. They’ve been hiding and waiting because they have to. Not because they’ve been trained in that kind of patience. If I’m right and Sendak does attack soon? He’ll be attacking _because_ of what we’re doing here, now. He’ll be on our schedule. Not his. We’ve _got_ to do everything we can to keep it that way. Keep him reacting to us.”

Lance frowned. “The MFE pilots are still scavenging in Cuba,” he said. “We gotta recall them.”

“Can’t,” said Shiro. “Until we’ve got the new comm center up, nothing’s secure – and if Sendak sees them coming back early he’ll know we’re onto him. Everything hits unknowable ground after that. We’ll have to hold Sendak off until they get back here, _after_ the attack begins.”

“We’re _sacrificing_ them?” asked Hunk, and clearly did _not_ like that idea.

“There’s nothing in Cuba to interest the galra,” said Keith. “The MFEs are about on par with a fighter, one fighter each. It’s the pilots, not the planes, that make them exceptional. And Sendak won’t give them that credit because it’d mean humans can be better pilots than galra. Even when measuring the best humans against pretty average galra, Sendak won’t want to believe that.”

Lance blinked. “Did you just call Griffin a good pilot?” he asked. “Whoah. And here he is unable to hear you.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “He’s an asshole. But he can fly. Can we stick to the topic?”

Shiro was smiling as he ate. A thoughtful and – did he but know it – rather evil smile. “Keith’s right,” he said quietly. “Sendak’s worst flaw is he _has_ to believe galra are superior. That’s always been his worst problem with _me_ – that a human could defeat galra in the arena. He _has_ to beat me to prove galra are the superior race. He has to beat _humanity_. We can use that to draw him out of hiding and keep him in the open.”

“Your mother was a hamster and your father smelled of elderberries?” asked Pidge, which forced everyone else to shift mental gears to figure out what the hell she was talking about.

After a few minutes to think about it, Shiro nodded. “Actually yes. Exactly. Just...maybe something Sendak would _understand_?”

Keith just looked blank. Lance said, “Old movie. We can show you later. If any copies survive.”

~*~

The paladins dispersed after dinner to prepare as much as they could. It felt weird, to think they might for just a moment be ahead of the curve, know what was coming next and be _ready_ for it.

Knowing was half the battle, but only half. Maybe.

Shiro took Iverson and Adam aside to tell them what the paladins had decided. “So we’re going to have to leave the hunt for saboteurs to you,” he said. “We’ll still help, but we’re pretty sure we’ll have to engage soon.”

Iverson hmph’d. “If you’re right then we need to make sure the shield generators stay online. We haven’t had time to make sure everyone’s trustworthy. They _could_ come down.”

“That’s...a problem,” Shiro agreed. “And we can’t recall the MFEs before the fighting starts or we give it all away.”

“We shift to ready stance,” said Adam. “Quietly. I’ll talk to every pilot personally. If we can’t rely on the shield staying up, we can at least get every possible weapon ready to fire or scatter to other bases.”

“They _can_ engage us on a global level,” Shiro pointed out. “And we can’t send out warnings.”

“That’s what red alert is _for_,” drawled Iverson. “Look. When it comes you get your lions in the air. We’ll get this garrison ready to scramble. Everything else...we’ll deal with it at the time. I’ll make sure Veronica’s in the heart of things. And that she’s armed. Under the circumstances she’s definitely the most reliable one I can tap.”

“And until the word comes down,” said Adam firmly, “We’ll do our best to pull this ...enemy faction up by the roots.”

~*~

They were actually finding a _lot_ of crystals. That was the downside. Lance had torn up a lot of fighters, and while it hadn’t been enough to save his home, there were several _dozen_ intact galra crystals recovered from the wreckage.

It was a downside because it meant Griffin could not, in good conscience, call the job done and bring his team back to the Garrison. The MFE pilots were the only ones who knew what the crystals could and should look like, and where to look for them in the rubble. Each of them led a squad of salvagers in the efforts. The ruins of galra fighters had to be separated from the ruins of buildings and the bodies of civilians, and everything had to be Dealt With Properly, so it was slow going. But steady. The people of Cuba – and Griffin tried hard not to append ‘what was left of them’, even in his mind – worked round the clock in shifts. The dead were given proper burial, the rubble was sorted into ‘reusable’ and ‘not reusable’, and transports were set aside for galra metals, materials, and crystals so that the Garrisons could forge them into the weapons of revenge.

Kinkade was the first to see it. He’d been using drones to film the efforts (there were media cameras from all over the world crawling around the rubble, but he wanted his own record) and saw the streaks that meant incoming ships. He sent the alert to the other pilots at once.

Griffin ordered everyone back to their planes. Back to the Garrison – let the salvage crews continue without them for now. Barely had they gotten airborne when the orders came. _MFE Pilots. Your orders are to engage all fighters. Watch for failing domes and focus defense action over unprotected areas._

“Watch for failing domes?” asked Rizavi.

“We have our orders,” said Griffin. “Full wingtip spread.” Then he got an eyeful of what was happening.

The galra weren’t focusing on just one island this time. The sky was _full_ of fighters. Horizon to horizon it seemed at first. There was ….there was _no way_ to take out even a quarter of them all, even if the whole group fired every weapon dry.

So it was like that, then.

“Everyone, watch each other’s backs and get as many as you can. When the tanks are dry head back to base to recharge,” said Griffin flatly. “Let’s show these galra fuckers how humans fly.”

He knew what he was ordering. So did they. They were going to be overwhelmed. But they were the best mobile defense Earth had. They _had_ to go down fighting.

“Roger that,” came the firm reply from Leifsdotter, Kinkade, and Rizavi.

~*~

The paladins had slept in their Lions – as much for safety as to be ready when the call came. The alert sounded in the predawn hour at the Southwest Garrison and sent all five scrambling to their cockpits somewhat before any of them were actually awake enough to process it.

They woke up soon enough when they launched and almost _immediately_ found themselves surrounded by fighters.

“Just like Cuba,” Lance growled, going from ‘half awake’ to ‘infuriated’ in record time.

“Worse,” said Shiro, who was checking his readings. “This is _global_.”

“He’s got to have brought in all his cruisers to dispatch this many,” said Pidge as Green engaged. “We can’t cover the whole planet.”

“We don’t have to,” said Keith. “Look. Domes.”

Indeed, as the alerts had sounded, defense domes were flickering to life below them. First around major cities, but spreading outward.

The Lions fanned out, each taking on pretty much everything in reach. Pidge chipped in with, “The MFE pilots are pinned down. They’re not going to reach a base to recharge before they’re downed.”

“Sky’s full in every direction,” said Keith.

Shiro heard what he meant, and clarified for the others: “So let’s go give them an escort and clear a path.”

~*~

Krolia rather lost track of time, in the enclosed space of the archives. Her assistant-guards seemed to rotate out fairly regularly, but as none introduced themselves she didn’t particularly trouble herself about them. They seemed to be touchy about names; when she _did_ ask for them, she was invariably told to call them whatever suited her, so long as it was polite. It seemed to be a Thing with them.

They _really_ didn’t seem to know what to do with her, or about her. Galra ears picked up snippets of conversation in her mate’s language now and then. They didn’t even use names with each other, as far as she could tell – though that might just be a precaution in case she could overhear them, in which case she had to commend their caution even as she wondered why it was an issue. They were happy to help her with her research, and always peppered the time with questions about her mate, and about Keith. How they’d lived, what they’d enjoyed, how Keith had been raised.

If it had, in any way, seemed a _block_ – something they were doing to head off her research, or prevent her from finding answers – Krolia might have tried shredding the lot of them out of sheer impatient frustration. Dwelling on that time was _painful_. Her mate was dead. He was not coming back. But the questions were polite, and her ‘assistants’ seemed to be genuinely helpful, with the questions something...else, something independent. So she answered. It was, for whatever reason, important to them. And they seemed to understand, at least, that Krolia’s hunt was important to _her_. So it was an equal exchange, of a kind.

Two birth certificates. One was the truth – that Keith had been born at his home, no doctor or midwife present, just her mate (who had EMT training). That Krolia had no surname and wasn’t born on Earth, and it used her mate’s proper data.

The _other_ was an interesting piece of fiction. This one said he was born in Gallup, New Mexico. Listed his parents as ‘Kate Thogail’ and ‘John Arlind’. As far as Krolia could see – and, having been very much present for the actual event, that was fairly far – there wasn’t a single true thing in it other than Keith’s name and birth date.

Someone had wanted to make sure Keith _never_ found his way home. At least, not by this route.

Krolia _had_ intended just to follow the true certificate to Keith’s human family. But this false certificate made her rethink that decision. This was not an accident. And the false certificate had all the hallmarks humans required of a genuine one. That took ...access. Not work, necessarily. _Forgeries_ took work. Making a true document with false data simply took access.

This was the trail that had led Krolia here. This was what Colleen had followed. Someone in Window Rock had made this false certificate and gotten it made official. Krolia’s ‘assistants’ found that very troubling and were apparently currently tracking down who had been in a position, that year, to make such a thing.

From what they’d told her, there were several possible reasons why it had been done the way it had. First would of course be to throw the human family off any official trail – they’d use the real names, the real places. This fake certificate’s trail would never even show up on such a search. But the second reason was apparently to deny Keith’s people any possible way to fight for him.

Krolia was a bit more confused on this point – what they were talking about. But it had her assistants very grim-faced and ...possibly angry. They weren’t exactly forthcoming with her about why this should be the case; honestly, Krolia had the impression that on some level they were still deciding whether Keith _was_ family, and thus the question of whether they’d want to fight for him seemed to Krolia to be basically the same as the first question. But they’d been quite insistent that it was in fact important, and they would be happy to help her sort it out as much as they could.

The true certificate also linked to quite a lot of people. Some were dead, of course. Some in prison. But enough were alive and free that Krolia started compiling a list, and the relationships. She would seek them out when this was over, and see if they wanted to meet Keith. (Krolia was privately very clear on the order in which she wanted to do this; she had no intention of introducing Keith to family that didn’t want to see him, or who might not survive the battles with the galra. Her son had lost enough and she would not do this to bring him more loss.)

Of especial note was her mate’s mother. Krolia’s assistants told her, quite firmly, that this was the woman she must speak to first, before any others, when it was time. Her mate’s family – they used the word _clan_ but it seemed broadly the same to Krolia – was matrilineal. If the grandmother was approving then everything would be much simpler, and if she was not, it would be best to go no farther.

Krolia was just entering the final name and contact information into her gauntlet when she heard the sound of blaster fire. Documents got jammed into her pouch – just in case the archive got burned down – even as her ‘assistants’ all but charged her. “Galra are attacking!”

“Get down,” Krolia advised. “Archways. Reinforced rooms. Somewhere you are safe from the ceiling dropping on you.” She looked around. “Cosmo!”

The wolf appeared, yawning – which quickly shifted to alertness as the wolf registered the attack.

“There is no dome here,” said one of the men. “We’re evacuating to bunkers. You’d better hurry.”

“No,” said Krolia. “I can better serve up here. Do you have any ground to air defenses?”

“Not here,” said the man. “We’re too small. Too far out. We were due to get a dome in a few more years.”

Krolia blinked. Very little of that statement had made any practical sense. She shook her head; it didn’t matter. What mattered was it was under attack _now_, and if she didn’t defend it, “This archive. Is its information backed up anywhere?”

“We’ve got a few mirror sites at other reservations,” said the man. “It’s probably safe. But -”

“So it’s just the people in danger,” Krolia nodded. “Good. Get under cover, and I will return here when the battle ends.” She looked to Cosmo. “Get me on a fighter.”

She wasn’t armed, or armored. But on the plus side, the pilot of a fighter had _no_ reason to believe someone would just _teleport_ onto their ship mid-battle. And she knew very well how to use the element of surprise.

~*~

Shiro could think of quite a lot of things at the same time.

There was: _If we take out these fighters, Sendak can’t get any more. The cruisers are still dangerous, but with no fighters they’re easy to take down._

There was: _We could also take out the cruisers. With nowhere to berth, this would be the last battle for the fighters even if they still have fuel._

There was: _And Sendak has to know both of those things._

There was: _We’ve only got four earth-based fighter planes. For the whole planet. The cannons are all geographically fixed and hard to aim._

There was: _The domes aren’t holding steady._

And at least a dozen more, while fighting hard against every fighter that came at him, and there were a lot of those. He couldn’t _see_ Keith, or Lance, or Pidge or Hunk. They’d learned from last time though and everyone was talking. The comms were a-buzz with random commentary that all amounted to _you can’t see me but I’m still here, they didn’t catch me_. Even Keith chipped in frequently, though usually with tips about a fighter aiming at one of the others’ blind spots.

The MFE pilots were all barely staying airborne when the Lions reached them. All four were damaged and low on power, but none of the pilots were injured. The four planes were surrounded by the five Lions in short order, given an escort back to the Southwest Garrison. The MFE pilots were all exhausted enough not to argue, damaged enough to be grateful. The only real comment came from Griffin; when the Garrison landing strip was finally in sight, all he said was, “Well, we’re all aces now, and we’ve lived to tell the brass so.”

As the Lions returned to the embattled skies, Pidge said, “That made no sense.”

“An ace is a fighter pilot who’s shot down five enemy aircraft,” said Lance.

“Sometimes, you know way too much history,” said Keith. “Shiro, are we still going to take out fighter ships?”

What decided him was Sendak. Sendak was on the cruisers. Sendak was behind it all. Take out the cruisers, the leadership would be gone. Cleaning up the fighters _had_ to be easier after that. They might even surrender. “Let’s head for the source.”

Five Lions rose in the sky, taking out the ships in their way.

Their comm screens lit up.

“_Paladins of Voltron,”_ purred Sendak’s voice. He had been waiting for this. For exactly this. _“Allow me to introduce you to my guests.”_

On their screens appeared a quintessence tank. Inside floated an unconscious human. “Marco!” was Lance’s pained cry.

Another image next to the first. “Mom?” croaked Hunk.

Image after image. The comm screen filled with images of captive humans floating in tanks. _“I feel I should inform you that your people are our guests,”_ was Sendak’s smug, sadistically amused comment. _“And any attack on my cruisers might cause them...undue distress.”_

The images blinked out. The five Lions hung in midair – fighting the fighters that came near, certainly, but no longer climbing.

“Shiro?” asked Lance. His voice sounded small and afraid. “He’s got my _family_ hostage?”

“And mine?” echoed Hunk. “We can’t….we can’t go in and take them out. He’ll kill them.”

“He’s got more than either of your families,” said Pidge grimly. “I recorded that transmission. Running facial recognition. This is where the people in Lance’s neighborhood and Hunk’s island disappeared to.”

_We can’t let the fate of a few endanger millions,_ was Shiro’s thought. He bit his lip on it. He could _not_ tell that to Lance, or Hunk. It would break them.

_We’re not going to,_ was Keith’s silent answer.

_How the hell are you doing this?_ Demanded Shiro. _Not that I’m objecting, but – seriously, how?_

_Oriande, and Lions, and WE, not ME,_ was Keith’s guess. _Now’s not really the time. We can’t just hang around here._

_We keep flying toward the cruisers and Sendak will kill his hostages._

_No, he won’t,_ said Keith firmly. _Because that will break two of the paladins and THAT will get him and all his people killed. I mean sure, yeah, he’d gloat that he hurt them, but that’s not the hurt he’s going for. He doesn’t _want_ ‘hurt so bad they go psychotic’. He wants ‘hurt so bad they curl into a broken ball and whimper forever’. _

Shiro frowned down at his hands. _Then why do this?_

_Because he doesn’t understand humans,_ said Keith. _He knows we care and he’s trying to use that. He figures we’ll hang around wringing our hands and oh-dearing about his captives, afraid to attack._

_Good guess so far,_ said Shiro grimly.

There was a ripple, a sense of laughter from Keith. _You’re better at thinking like a galra than he is at thinking like a human. We’ve got this. He’s gone too far in the wrong direction._

Shiro frowned. And then saw it. Saw what Keith was looking at. Or, rather, the angle he was looking at it from. “Everyone. Back to the Garrison. Don’t worry. We’re _going_ to get our people back.” _And you’re _going_ to talk to me about this...whatever this is._

_Ask Black,_ Keith advised.

The Lions descended and Shiro pondered the revelation. He understood why Keith hadn’t said anything aloud. Keith saying it, saying _this_, would sound cold, heartless. Like he didn’t actually care about the captives. That would break the team, with Lance and Hunk both fixated on recovering their friends and family.

Sendak _had_ gone too far in the wrong direction. He’d wanted, tried for, an emotional breaking that would shatter human morale and hand him the planet.

What he’d _done_ was re-create Pearl Harbor, and the London Blitz.

If Shiro took advantage of it quickly.

~*~

The galra fighters were still hammering at shields – or laying waste to places beyond them. Ryou’s defense plans were finally put into action, and they were fairly effective. Earth was under siege, but not yet beaten. Realistically, food would be an issue by next year – most of the unshielded areas were open farmland – but the bunker greenhouses were already started.

Hundreds of thousands of people were already dead, outside the domes. ‘It could have been a lot worse’ was small consolation. No one really knew just how much damage the Lions had or had not done to the galra fighter complement, and everyone now knew that the cruisers had human hostages.

The four MFE pilots were all in medbay, mostly for exhaustion and to be kept under observation. They had been chosen to defend Earth, and this was the first real battle any of them had seen. They were taking the beating hard. Meanwhile, quietly, Adam and Iverson were conducting interrogations because not _all_ of the shields had worked. Some hadn’t come on at all, while others had activated only to come down later. Several cities around the world had taken significantly more damage as a result.

The paladins were as exhausted as the MFE pilots, but had the dubious advantage of having had to survive Zarkon’s sieges in the past. They knew how it went and even Keith took advantage of the brief downtime to catch up on sleep; the war, after all, would be right there waiting in the morning.

Shiro did not.

He conferred with Iverson and Adam first – getting an idea of how bad the surface damage was, what level of loss the planet was dealing with. Estimates on fighters downed, and how many were out trying to salvage galra crystals from fighter wreckage. Shiro offered his plan to them. He wasn’t too surprised when they approved, though Adam wanted to wait until they’d acquired at least a few more crystals. Iverson suggested a quick trawl through Keith’s medical records, which yielded promising options. Inventory calls were sent out.

Shiro got the Garrison PR team to help him put together a broadcast. He needed the help, because he couldn’t afford to look stressed or tired and neither could Adam or Iverson.

They recorded a speech. While Shiro took Black around the world, picking up volunteers and cargo at each site, it was broadcast to everyone left in the world that could receive it.

“_People of Earth,”_ it began, Shiro seated at a formal looking desk, with flags of the world on poles arrayed behind him, and Adam and Iverson standing at attention to either side. He wore his black Paladin armor, the helmet on the desk before him. _“The galra have come out of hiding and shown you their power. You’ve watched them beat on our shields all day. You’ve watched them destroy whatever was in their reach. You may have seen me, or my fellow Paladins, trying to stem the tide. You know we couldn’t. We are only five, and even with the power of Voltron, we can’t be everywhere._

“_That’s why we need you. That’s why I come to you now.”_

“_The galra have taken human beings hostage. They think it will protect them from human retaliation. I come to you now to offer you an alternative. I come to you to offer you – offer you all – the chance to take back your homes and avenge your friends, your families, your cities._

“_Voltron is five Lions that come together to form one being that is greater than the sum of its parts. I believe the human race is a greater whole than Voltron alone could ever be. I ask you to come together now, and fight not just for yourselves but for the future of us all._

“_If you would join me, join _us_, then head to your nearest Garrison base however you can. The Lions of Voltron will come for you and we will _show_ the galra what it means to attack the human race.”_

The screen then showed the Garrison locations, around the world, and the ways to reach them.

Sendak had lost a lot of fighters – not just the ships, but the pilots. He had no sentries now, no way to replenish his numbers. And he’d just attacked _billions_ of humans. Humans who only hadn’t retaliated because they didn’t have the means to reach Sendak’s spacefaring cruisers, didn’t have access to weapons that matched galra blasters.

The humans had crystals now – crystals they could fish out of every downed fighter. They had records of poisons that affected galra (or at least half galra and that was enough to start with) and they had swords and pikes and daggers that, even if ten humans had to swarm each galra warrior, they had the numbers and they had the daggers and they were both desperate enough to need to and angry enough to want to.

And Lions to give them a ride to their enemy, now that it had come out of hiding.


	11. The Battle for Earth, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * Author has only been to AZ/NM like, once, and has done the best she can with locations that would be appropriate. Be gentle if I screwed it up.
> 
> * Believe me, while I do tend to focus on the sheith first, I have not in any way forgotten Lance and Hunk's problems with current events. Be patient. Please.
> 
> * Galra officers never seem to wear helmets. Don't try and tell me humankind wouldn't take full advantage.

It was, in its own special way, a truly beautiful coming-together of ideas.

Human grief could be turned to rage. Sendak, trying for the former, had sparked the latter.

Galra – especially _these_ galra – needed to prove themselves superior. They didn’t _want_ to be hiding and using stealth tactics. They _wanted_ to face what they saw as an inferior species head on, and defeat them.

Once the paladins had rested, they pretty much just gave _everyone_ their favorite wishes. Shiro dispatched the Lions to every Garrison around the world. Scientists and engineers had worked around the clock with what information they had about galra crystals and weaponry to create rifles for at least _some_ of them to use – the rest got carbon steel swords and daggers and poisons to dip them into, tranq guns where the tranquilizers had been _replaced_ with poisons, and launchers loaded with gas canisters. Humanity had spent the vast majority of its existence fighting itself, and was more than happy to test that training on a new enemy.

There weren’t anywhere _near_ enough rifles to go around for the first groups. But that was...while not ideal, it was at least acceptable. The soldiers and volunteers who got poisoned blades knew their job would likely kill them, but it would mean victory for those that came after.

Galra couldn’t resist a chance to show their superiority. Especially, _especially_ these galra.

The Lions initially acted as ferries – each paladin fit as many as they could into their cargo bays, and took off for a cruiser. The Lion would claw a hole into a cruiser – pretty much anywhere not the bridge – and let the human volunteers head inside. While going back and forth, the paladins did what they could to take out fighters and cruiser cannons, but their main mission was to ferry soldiers. Fighting the galra on their own cruisers took away a lot of the galra’s advantages – the galra couldn’t use their weapons at full power lest they destroy their own ships, and their larger size meant it was much easier for the smaller humans to surround them and start stabbing.

In theory, the galra _could_ have just taken off with their new humans. But _these_ galra had been cooped up in their cruisers, forced to hide from what they saw as an inferior species. Forced to resort to stealth tactics most saw no need for. Forced to take hostages when what they wanted were slaves. They didn’t want to retreat again. They _wanted_ to fight. They wanted to fight hand to hand and _claw_ them to death. And when they started losing, it infuriated them into making even more mistakes. It didn’t _matter_ how many humans they clawed down. The Lions were dropping more and more onto every cruiser, every hour. The humans could replenish their forces. _Were _replenishing their forces. The galra could not.

And while the guns on human aircraft couldn’t scratch the armor on galra fighters, the same was not true of a human pistol when applied to a galra skull. Anywhere without armor, the galra were just as capable of dying as any human.

_They’re going to die,_ was the thought Shiro fought not to say, while he ferried the squads to the carriers like the other Paladins.

_They’re volunteering. They’ve honestly got more say in what they’re doing right now than any of us ever got,_ Keith pointed out. _And they’re doing it for everyone’s sake. For the first time. Not for this nation or that country. For all humankind. _

_Don’t pretend it’s noble when you know they’re grieving and angry._ Shiro’s hands clenched the controls. _And I took advantage of that to throw them at Sendak._

Keith laughed a lot more in his mind than he ever did out loud, and the sound in his mind lacked any kind of cynical bitterness. _Shiro, name me ONE OTHER PLANET that has ever resisted the galra like this. In ten thousand years! Name me ONE. Humanity’s doing a damn good job here. Don’t take that away from them._

There was that. Even the Alteans had apparently not displayed the sheer furious bloodymindedness of a deeply offended humankind. Voltron had come in, again and again, to give hope to planets crushed under galra rule. Over and over, the paladins had practically had to put the weapons in those planets’ hands and teach them to defend themselves.

Humanity hadn’t needed hope - just a ride to the battleground. It was...definitely different.

Not that the Lions were limited to ferrying. Fighters got chewed on and sliced up with every trip, reducing their numbers and drawing their attention from more vulnerable targets on the surface. Cruisers were disabled and disarmed wherever possible. Humanity’s armed forces might not have the firepower of the galra, but because they went into battle _knowing_ that, they were cunning about their sacrifices.

Human history was full of the outgunned and outnumbered making every move count. In a way, all the centuries of internal warfare had given the fledgling species far more practice at exactly this kind of war than Sendak could ever have suspected.

And Shiro could sense that for the first time in quite a long time, Keith was feeling kind of proud that he was half human. Shiro wasn’t sure what to think about that. Or any of this. It didn’t _feel_, somehow, like a bright moment in human history. It felt ...he wasn’t sure how it felt, but he didn’t like it.

“Shiro?” came Lance’s voice. “We’re starting to ...there’s groups that’ve cleared a cruiser or two. They’ve reached the prisoner tanks. What do we tell them?”

There was one cruiser that the paladins needed to handle themselves. But. “Hunk, you’re on return duty,” said Shiro. “When our forces have cleared a cruiser talk them through getting prisoners out of the tanks, and start getting the survivors back to Earth. If the researchers start whining tell them we’ll bring up research teams to study the ships once _all_ of them are cleared.”

“Got it,” said Hunk, and Yellow wheeled to approach one of the signaling ships.

“And the rest of us?” asked Pidge. “I’ve never seen so many cruisers too busy to fire their weapons before. It’s like having a free day.”

“We’re going to take on the flagship,” said Shiro. “You, me, Keith and Lance. This time, Sendak’s not going to run off to raise another army.”

“I like how you think,” said Lance, and there was a fierce edge to his voice. Marco was on Sendak’s flagship.

~*~

Four Lions clamped claws and jaws down on Sendak’s cruiser. Black energy met them – Druid magic that drained and paralyzed. It gave Sendak time to meet each Paladin with a group of soldiers, and these soldiers were the best Sendak had.

Even Pidge had had more than enough practice by now to handle the situation, though. After about ten minutes of frenzied combat, the four managed to meet up in a connecting corridor. All four were in dire need of a hosing-down by then, but still ready to fight.

Keith had his Blade in one hand, and bayard in the other. Shiro had his cybernetic arm glowing, and the black bayard in his other hand was currently an energy pistol. Lance’s bayard was a sword, but he changed it to a blaster as he joined the group.

“Keith and I will clear the path,” said Shiro. “Pidge, you’re on _every_ console we come across. I want to know who Sendak took, how many, from where, and where to find them. I also want to be damn sure we’ve gotten _all_ of his forces at the end of this, and anything you can dig up about his druid reinforcements. Lance, you’re rearguard. Keep Keith and I from being overwhelmed and keep the galra off Pidge while she’s working. Got it?”

Three nods. “Got it.”

They set to work, carving a slow, bloody path to the bridge.

~*~

Krolia opened her eyes to Cosmo determinedly licking her face.

She did not recognize this ceiling. Narrowing her eyes, she realized she wasn’t entirely sure what the ceiling _was_, either. She thought she knew human architecture.

“Ah. Good. You wake. We weren’t sure you would.”

Refocusing her attention, Krolia recognized one of her ‘assistants’. He was standing in the doorway of...was this room carved out of _rock_? He seemed to be a guard, of sorts, but it was difficult to say from his stance whether he was there to keep Krolia inside, or everyone else out. He had a shotgun in his hands, and the ease with which he held it suggested familiarity. “I do not remember this place.”

“I would be surprised if you did,” said the man. He was dressed fairly plainly; jeans, leather belt, cotton shirt. “Your wolf friend only barely got you out ahead of the crash.”

Crash. Yes. She and Cosmo had been hopping, fighter to fighter, taking out the pilots and moving on to the next to let the ships crash where they might. It turned out Cosmo had a finite number of jumps in him; they’d found that out together, the hard way. She’d had to take control of the last fighter they’d cleared and turn it against the rest of the attack group. Which had worked fairly well for a time, but she’d been shot down.

She gave Cosmo a ruffling of his fur. “Thanks,” she said. One more jump, to save their lives.

“You saved most of Window Rock,” said the man. “Caused so much chaos in the air that they backed off. Something else is going on today.”

Probably. Tactics had to change to succed. “Where are we?” Krolia asked.

“Canyon de Chelly,” said the man. “One of the evacuation sites. Officially a park, but.” He shrugged, leaving the impression that the gesture was doing a _lot_ of work.

Krolia absently scritched Cosmo’s ears; the wolf, too, was mostly paying attention to their ...guard. “How shall I call you?” she asked. “And what’s going on today?”

The man gave her a little nod of acknowledgment at the odd phrasing. “Call me Steve, then,” he said. He paused, then added, “Or brother. That works too.” He gestured out of the stone doorway. “What’s going on is the hornets are out for blood.”

Krolia blinked. Brother? She studied the human more closely. He wasn’t from the first set of four. He’d come in later. And...there _was_ a degree of resemblance to her lost mate, but in all fairness a _lot_ of humans had a degree of resemblance to him lately. It wasn’t something she could trust herself to measure accurately right now. The man might be speaking in a general sense. Comrades in arms, perhaps. She looked to Cosmo; the wolf’s ears were forward, tail relaxed. He saw no threat in this human. That would do, for now. She got up, and went to the doorway. The stone dwelling looked old, but refurbished recently. Structurally refurbished, anyway. She peered outside with care, and found the dwelling was part of a canyon wall. Thankfully at ground level.

No wonder they’d refurbished it. It wouldn’t take much for this little house to entirely disappear. A good place to evacuate to, if the danger was from the skies. There had to be some kind of scanning countermeasure to make galra technology only see rock.

Krolia looked up and saw flashes of light in the daytime sky; war in orbit. The clouds showed signs of having been heavily disturbed, as well. “You have spaceworthy ships?”

“Keith’s friends have been giving whole squads a ride up there,” said Steve. He sounded amused, and proud in a laid back kind of way that did feel familiar. “Attention’s off the surface. Kind of expecting an all clear to come over the radio anytime now. You’ve saved a lot of people.”

There was something layered about the remark. But these humans were strange even by the standards Krolia had come to have about humans in general. They might be grateful, but they weren’t particularly trusting. In some ways, at least.

Fair enough, really. She _was_ galra. Given that humans in general had no experience at all with other species, and the war in the sky, this was just shy of throwing a welcome feast. “You said...brother?” she asked carefully.

Steve gave her a level look. “I can’t give you the full...” he waved a hand. “That’s for Grandma. That’s still being discussed. But yeah. The guy you call your mate was my little brother. And I for one think he found a good woman.”

Krolia blinked. “You are in that photograph.” He was certainly older now, but that was where the familiarity came from.

“Family get-together,” Steve nodded. “And as interested as you are in finding out how my nephew managed to wind up flying a robot cat in a war in outer space.”

“And you got me ...here,” said Krolia. “From the crash.”

“Battle was still going on when Cosmo got you clear,” said Steve. “Evacuations were underway, and I work here. Part of my job, get everyone under cover, get the maskers on. Can’t have you dying, not on this battlefield.”

Krolia considered that. “Do you want to get to the one in the sky?”

~*~

The paladins weren’t as vengeance driven as the other humans attacking the cruisers – with the probable exception of Lance – but did have the advantage of having done this before. The real difference was that these weren’t sentry-bots or researchers, but galra warriors with centuries of battle experience and a great deal of pent-up bloodlust. As coordinated as the four were, progress toward the bridge was slow.

But never, ever halted.

Keith and Shiro fought back to back and side by side, as the fights demanded. The telepathy trick didn’t seem to work outside the Lions, but Shiro was becoming increasingly aware that he _knew_ Keith – a lot better than he had, and a lot better than he’d thought anyone could. He could _sense_ where Keith was, who he was fighting at any given moment, even if he couldn’t see it. And whenever Shiro had to switch up his methods for a new enemy, he saw that Keith seemed to have the same sense with regard to him. He knew where a punch or kick had hurt Keith and limited his mobility, which meant he knew where the weaknesses in their defenses were and how to shore them before they became major issues.

And it wasn’t something Lance or Pidge were part of. Oh, they fought well together – they’d had practice. But that was where their skill lay, in the familiarity born of practice. It wasn’t...whatever this was.

Not that Shiro was going to knock it. Fighting at Keith’s side was unexpectedly exhilarating. A puzzle piece that had fitted snugly and seamlessly into its niche.

Really, the only issue was making sure Lance didn’t charge ahead. He knew his brother was near. He wanted to get Marco clear before Sendak decided to do something worse.

~*~

Hunk did _not_ have a problem with being the transport for all the volunteers itching to have a go at the galra. He’d never much liked close quarters combat, and Yellow was the biggest Lion after Black, and most heavily armored. Hunk was the logical best choice for getting people onto and off of the cruisers.

But these _tanks_, man. He had to help the crew of engineers sent to get the prisoners figure out how to extract people from the purple tanks. And Hunk was _not_ liking what he saw.

Thankfully, he wasn’t related to the first person they had to release. The added pressure would’ve given Hunk a breakdown. It was bad enough knowing _anyone_ was stuck floating in a literal tank of brain-breaking nightmares.

The engineers around him took notes and talked with each other as he found the sequence that released the first prisoner, draining the tank so it could be opened. “Get him to a hospital with a lot of psychiatrists,” Hunk advised. “When the galra put people in tanks like this, it can mess up their heads pretty bad. He might attack or something when he wakes up.”

That got everyone’s attention. “They can turn people against each other?”

Hunk nodded. “Kind of something they love doing, actually,” he said grimly. “But it’s not these guys’ fault. Let’s get ‘em home, and taken care of, yeah?”

“Or we could save ourselves a lot of trouble and shoo-” one began, and didn’t finish because it was hard to talk around Hunk’s gauntleted hand closing, _hard_, around his throat.

“We’re not gonna do that,” said Hunk calmly. “Because _we_ are not _galra_. We’re gonna take our people home, and take care of them the way the _galra_ never do with their own people. You got that? We’re better than that.”

Whether it was the not-remotely-oblique threat, or the idea of the galra being the low bar, the group backed off and set about helping the freed prisoner back to Yellow. “He’ll sleep, I think,” said Hunk. “For a while. They don’t really sleep in the tanks.” He hoped. It felt sickening to hope they hadn’t done anything _unusual_ to Keith, but that was really the only measure Hunk could use for what had happened to these people.

He was _not_ going to let them die in those tanks. No one deserved that. He’d do it alone if he had to.

~*~

The fighting got harder, the nearer they got to the bridge.

That was, in a way, only to be expected. Galra thinking sent the lowest-ranking to deal with threats first. You had to beat the mooks to get to the bosses. The four paladins had their work cut out for them, clearing every room. They hadn’t gotten _too_ far before Pidge asked Hunk to drop off any hot blooded soldiers looking for trouble off on Sendak’s cruiser to secure the areas the paladins had cleared, just to make sure Sendak couldn’t bring in reinforcements from any of the remaining enemy ships.

Lance got all the work he could possibly want; sometimes he was busy laying down rapid cover fire just to keep Keith and Shiro free enough to swing their blades and galra arm. And behind them, angry humans from a dozen different armies swarmed into rooms. Now and then someone would come up with a grenade launcher or gas canisters, which Lance happily launched ahead of the paladins.

Actually reaching the bridge was almost a shock.

Unfortunately, Sendak was ready for them. He opened by launching his gigantic floating arm _past_ the paladins, to grab and crush four soldiers coming up behind them into a single screaming bloody mass.

“Have you enjoyed my gifts, paladins?” Sendak snarled. “Four against one. And you call yourselves _paladins_.”

“You’re the one kidnapping _civilians_ off a planet that hasn’t got anything that could threaten you,” spat Lance, and the only reason Sendak didn’t immediately disintigrate under a hail of blaster fire was he he positioned his floating arm to shield himself.

Shiro took the opening to charge Sendak, not even noticing that his galra arm had formed a translucent blade of pure superhot plasma as he swung.

“Clear the room,” growled Keith as Shiro took Sendak on – he could feel that Shiro regarded this as personal, and something he needed to do, but damn if he was going to let any of Sendak’s officers adjust the odds. Keith turned to take on one of Sendak’s lieutenants, his mismatched swords in motion.

Lance and Pidge both moved to join Keith, with Pidge jumping at the usually-much-larger galra to distract them long enough for Lance to line up a headshot, while Keith focused on engaging anyone trying to help Sendak.

Shiro and Sendak fought like very _angry_ cats trapped in a burlap sack, the growls unconsciously mirroring each other as each sought advantage. Shiro wasn’t _just_ focused on taking Sendak down, though – he had to keep Sendak focused on _him_ and not the other paladins, or the tank that held Marco. And Sendak knew it.

“Still weak,” Sendak purred, fangs gleaming as he tried to grab Shiro in his giant hand. “Still so focused on unimportant details. The vaunted _Champion.”_

“I’ve still beaten you every time,” said Shiro levelly, managing to slice off one of the hand’s fingers as he dodged. “This is the last time, Sendak.”

“Indeed,” said Sendak. He picked up the severed metal finger and threw it at the tank – Keith swatted it down midflight with his bayard before Shiro had so much as glanced in its direction. Instead, Shiro drove his human fist into the abdominal joint in Sendak’s armor, to fire his bayard pistol into Sendak’s stomach.

The galra general roared with pain, and this time just used his floating hand to grab Shiro and _slam_ him into the bulkhead, like a child beating a doll against a wall. There were crunching sounds – Shiro’s helmet slamming into the bulkhead, his chest armor cracking under the pressure.

Keith gave an ungodly _shriek_ of rage, changed targets, and threw his Marmora blade right into Sendak’s skull before Sendak – or, for that matter, Shiro – had any idea what the new sound meant. Keith wasn’t about to enlighten either of them – he didn’t spare the body of Sendak even a moment’s thought, using his bayard to cut at the cybernetic hand to get Shiro out of it, give him room to breathe around cracked armor and broken ribs.

Lance took out the galra that Keith had been fighting, looked around and realized that was the last one. “...Shiro?” He sounded worried, almost sick.

Pidge kept her head, and stayed on mission – leaving Shiro to the boys. She went to the console, and started her decryption programs running, and then went to the tank with Marco in it. “Lance. He’s still alive.”

Lance gave Pidge a wild, confused look for a moment – clearly not sure at first whether she meant Shiro or Marco. Then his focus snapped back, and he gave Pidge a nod. “I’ll cover you while you get him out. Keith, get Shiro back to the Lions.”

Keith was trying to gauge the damage – they’d never _seen_ paladin armor break like that. He had to see if any pieces had broken through the flexible under-suit, if there was bleeding. Keith satisfied himself that at least Shiro wasn’t cut to hell and back and then scooped him up and gave Lance a nod before starting a sprint back to Red.

It left Lance as the only one on the flagship bridge to address startled soldiers. “We’ve got the flagship,” he told them. “Decide who stays here to hold it and I’ll call Hunk to give the rest of you a lift to any ships still fighting.”

“There aren’t any,” said one soldier in heavily accented English. Lance wasn’t sure what his uniform meant – maybe somewhere in eastern Europe. Geography hadn’t been his best subject. “This was the last ship. Yellow Lion’s been bringing up engineers and doctors to get the - “ he nodded to the tank, “Back to Earth. We’ll send out a flare so he knows to bring them here.”

“Thanks,” said Lance. He felt...weird. Torn. Shiro looked pretty beaten up but his brother was right here, and he didn’t want to leave Marco alone even if Marco was in no shape to know. He felt weird feeling like he was somehow in _charge_ of these soldiers.

He felt weird thinking they’d just killed Sendak and the long war was _over_. Really, finally, over. It didn’t _feel_ over.

Feeling kind of blank, while Pidge worked on her downloads, Lance walked over to Sendak’s body. Verified it was definitely dead – Keith’s sword had reverted to a dagger and stuck between Sendak’s eyes, which stared blankly. Lance made triply sure by pulling out the dagger and then firing his blaster at the body a few times just in case the bastard was somehow faking it. The soldiers gave him serious, solemn looks that suggested they had a good idea how he felt, and that was the strangest feeling of all.

A small sloshing sound meant Marco’s tank was draining. Lance passed Keith’s dagger to Pidge. The soldiers moved to go signal Hunk.

“I’ve got the data from this ship,” said Pidge. “We can take our time with the secure comm station now.”

Lance eyed the tank. “No, we can’t,” he said. “They said there’s no more cruisers fighting, but I didn’t fight any druids today. There’s one on this ship somewhere, or hidden nearby on a cruiser we can’t see. They stayed out of the fight.”

Pidge frowned. “I’d forgotten about them,” she sighed. “You’re right. There’s no telling how many of _them_ there are. Or where they are.”

The tank was empty, and Marco’s glistening body hung limply in the cables. Lance opened the tank and gently started disconnecting his brother, a hand over his heart for the reassurance of the heartbeat. “It’s okay,” he told Marco quietly. “I gotcha.”

~*~

The all clear sounded as Krolia, Cosmo and Steve appeared on the Southwest Garrison grounds. They were quickly surrounded by Garrison soldiers, and both raised their arms in surrender.

“Guess they’re not as trusting as he used to think,” Steve remarked.

“They are not,” Krolia agreed. To the soldiers, she said, “I am Krolia. Tell Adam and Iverson. I am here to wait for a Lion to come.”

The name – but honestly, more likely the presence of the wolf – got the soldiers to at least send someone to tell the commanders who’d just appeared on base. One of the other soldiers took Steve’s shotgun, but at least managed to be polite about it. For a given value of polite.

The stalemate was broken by the Red Lion streaking down from the sky. The sight of it, up close and full size, widened Steve’s eyes considerably. Krolia’s surprise was for Keith coming out holding a broken-looking, unconscious Shiro in his arms.

She stopped playing by human rules at that point. Over soldier objections she ran to Keith. “How is he?”

“Sendak grabbed him,” said Keith in the restrained tone that said he was not crying or shouting by sheer force of will. “Broke his armor – ribs -”

Krolia lifted Shiro out of her son’s arms. “Lead the way,” she said. Then called to Steve, “Come with us and grab any medic you find. And the rest of you, be useful or _be out of the way_.”

In honesty she likely would have been shot were the soldiers not just as concerned about the Black Paladin’s condition. They scattered, apparently each one to find a doctor. Steve had the presence of mind to retrieve his shotgun from the soldier that had taken it before he followed her, giving Keith a nod of greeting as they moved. Keith barely noticed; his attention was entirely on Shiro.

Adam and Iverson caught up with them halfway to the medical ward. Adam looked shocked; Iverson just concerned.

“Sendak?” asked Iverson.

“Dead,” said Keith. “We’ve got the flagship.”

Iverson’s sigh of relief was overshadowed by Adam’s concerned, “What happened to Ta – to Shiro?”

“Sendak crushed him and beat him on the wall,” said Keith flatly. “Mom, they don’t have quintessence tanks here.”

“The fleet is broken,” said Krolia. “As soon as I have him in the hands of the healers I’ll go send word to the Princess. The castleship isn’t in danger now. He just has to hold on until it gets here.”

“Princess?” asked Adam.

“Castleship?” asked Iverson. “The one you guys sent away? Big ship?”

“One thing at a time,” Steve advised, which caught the attention of Adam and Iverson, who had no idea who he was or why he was there.

Krolia answered their clear confusion with, “He’s with me.” A quick glance at Adam, and she added, “It has to do with my research.”

Adam looked from Steve to Keith – who was paying attention to nothing not Shiro-related right now – and nodded.

The group entered the medical wing – which was also currently tending every soldier who’d been injured in the battles to clear the cruisers, and was therefore doing a lot of business.

“Priority case!” snapped Iverson loudly, which got a few of the nearest doctors not handling critical cases to come over. Krolia carefully handed Shiro over to them.

“I’ll stay here,” said Keith firmly.

“Not without a sterilization shower you won’t,” snapped a doctor. “You’re covered in alien gore. You’re a walking biohazard.”

The phrasing had both Keith and Krolia staring at the doctor, but Keith did look down at himself. Close-quarters combat with blades had more or less covered him in galra blood. “...Fine,” he agreed, and gave Krolia a _you’re up_ look before gesturing to the doctor to show him where to clean up.

Krolia nodded, and took up a guard position by Shiro’s bed, even as doctors gathered to carefully remove Shiro from his broken armor.

Steve watched Keith go, looked at Krolia, and then took up a guard position on the other side of the bed – he stayed out of the doctors’ way, but made it clear enough that he wasn’t going to be hearing any orders to move.

His actions had both Iverson and Adam giving him puzzled looks. Adam was torn – he clearly wanted to stay, but a glance in the direction Keith had gone said all that needed to be said of why that might not be a great idea.

“Will this princess listen to me?” Adam asked. “I don’t...” he sighed. “I don’t think Keith would take it well if he came back to find you gone and me here instead, but if this princess has better medical technology, I’d as soon get word to her as quickly as possible.”

“Let Keith return from the sterilization shower,” said Krolia. “Then I will go and call the Emperor. It will not be long.”

“And you?” Adam asked, looking at Steve.

“Complicated,” said Steve. “But the lady here just saved tens of thousands of people who didn’t have a dome, and somehow I’m getting the idea you all don’t like her much. I’ll stay here for now, and go with her.”

This news got Adam and Iverson blinking. “That so?” said Iverson. “Good news, then.” His cell phone buzzed, and he took it out. Listened for a bit, then said, “Black’s in the med wing. Tell ‘em they have to clean up first.” Pause. “Hn. Yeah, I’ll tell ‘em.” He closed the phone and pocketed it. “They’re bringing back a lot of people that were in those purple tanks. Yellow Paladin’s said they should be taken to mental health centers, so Yellow’s going there with Blue. Green’s coming back here. You know anything about this?”

Krolia nodded. “They are Druid tanks. Haggar uses them to turn people into Druids...or her slaves. Sendak likely just used them to inflict pain, but the Yellow Paladin is correct in his assessment. They should be studied by those who heal minds, not bodies.”

Damp but gleaming clean in his street clothes, Keith came back. Krolia nodded to Steve.

“We’ll go call the castleship,” she told her son.

Keith took up a protective guard position by Shiro’s bed. “You do that.”


	12. In the Kitchen While the Party Goes On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most of humanity's celebrating their impossible victory.
> 
> The paladins? REALLY not so much.

It did not _feel_ like a victory.

Of course, the rest of the planet disagreed.

The whole of Earth was united in a way never really seen before; they’d been growing toward it, with multinational groups like Galaxy Garrison, but the human race had never before truly faced _anything_ that every nation, every religion, could pretty much agree was an enemy. They’d never come together and _completely disregarded_ uniform and language in favor of taking an enemy out that was a threat to all.

The threat was past, and so some of those divisions returned, but pretty much everyone else was doing their best version of the end-of-school-year party, for adults. And those that weren’t the type to enjoy a party were volunteering, all around the world, to help rebuild and restore those areas the domes could not protect.

But for the paladins of Voltron, it didn’t feel like anything to celebrate – and honestly, they all felt a bit strange for that lack of joy.

Some of it was obvious, of course. Shiro was spending a lot of time sleeping in a haze of painkillers, while his broken ribs were set and bound, and Keith stayed by his side and threatened murder to anyone that tried to wake him up. Lance and Hunk were both at the clinic that had been taken over and set aside specifically to house the victims of the quintessence tanks, waiting for their family members to wake up and dreading the moment they did. And Pidge went right back to the comm station, trying to get word of her brother, of her parents, of Allura, and when she wasn’t doing that she was decrypting the data on the Purification cruisers to find the missing captives of Cuba and Samoa. And all of these were excellent reasons not to sit back on their heels and call the current state of affairs a _victory_.

But it went beyond that. Humanity knew nothing of Haggar, of the druids, of the dark powers they wielded and the danger they represented. You couldn’t explain _magic_ to someone who had never seen it in action.

The fight wasn’t _over_. It had only changed battlegrounds. And the real trouble was, there was no telling where the next battlefield would _be_. Haggar’s cruiser was enough to house all the surviving druids – and it hadn’t been destroyed or captured in the battle. So it was still around. Haggar could literally be _anywhere_.

And each of the Paladins felt alone.

Keith stood guard over Shiro, but because of the drugs, couldn’t really talk to him. Shiro would wake up for brief periods – enough to drink some water, get some food down, maybe move around a bit – but soon enough the painkillers would make him sleepy again. And there were _many_ who wanted the story of the Epic Battle of the Black Paladin against the Alien Invading General from Shiro’s own mouth.

Keith didn’t want to take that victory from Shiro, but at the same time, wasn’t going to let the media vultures eat him alive. So he didn’t correct them – but he was busy keeping them away from Shiro.

Lance and Hunk met at mealtimes and to sleep, their Lions parked outside the clinic. But other than those times, they were each with their families – or at least, the bodies of their families. Listening to the best psychiatric and neuroscientific experts in the world trying to figure out what had happened to the tank prisoners, and what could be done about it. It would have been easier on them both if they could have gone together, but there were just too many people involved.

Pidge was the only one not really dealing with human limitations – at least, not other than her own. Without Hunk she couldn’t work quite as quickly – for one thing she was a _lot_ more impatient than Hunk, and explaining what were to her very basic concepts _over and over_ was trying – but she was persistent. And unlike the others, she had control of her timetable. She knew what to do, when to do it, and when it would be done. But she still was alone.

~*~

Haggar studied the woman neutrally. Sanda hadn’t taken well to living in a cell, and the past year or three had therefore been unkind. She didn’t look stern, or regal; she looked bitter, and angry. She spat out her story because in her eyes, there were no secrets in it. What was done was done. Hiding it wasn’t worth the pain Haggar’s magic could inflict.

But Sanda wasn’t ready, at all, for Haggar’s verdict. “Of course you lost,” Haggar rasped. “The one you call Ryou was my creation. A clone, infused with my magic and implanted with instructions.”

Haggar _loved_ the power of truth to deceive. She watched Sanda’s eyes widen. Watched the pieces fall into place – and then turn ninety degrees sideways. The right information led to very much the wrong conclusions.

Sanda wasn’t _quite_ so easy to lead, though. “No – no, you lie. Sendak _did_ come. He _did_ attack. Exactly as - “ she stopped, lips thinning. She didn’t like admitting that was a bad call on her part.

“Of course he did,” said Haggar. “Sendak was also my creation.”

“Yours?” asked Sanda, confused now – for a moment. “Are you saying _all of it_ was your doing? Ryou coming here to warn us, prepare us, Sendak to fight us? _Why_?”

“So Voltron could come and save you,” said Haggar, with a small vicious smile. Then turned her back on the bound Sanda, and walked out of the cell. Let the human stew on _that_ idea.

Macidus closed the soundproof door behind her. “For what purpose, High Priestess?” he asked. “We have more agents every day. This one is not suited for conversion or control.”

“Sendak is dead. The Paladins will be seeking me soon,” said Haggar. “I would have their attentions directed elsewhere. How fare the colonies?”

Macidus’ beaked mask dipped. “Roughly thirty percent of the captives have perished at each thus far,” he said calmly. “The infirm and the old; within tolerances. Barracks have been constructed. However, creating quintessence distillation plants will be difficult. The worlds are lacking in resources.”

“Recall them, then,” said Haggar flatly. She didn’t need to say _leave the slaves behind_. The slaves didn’t matter. Let the humans go rescue them if they wished. “There are significant resources here. What are the indications?”

Macidus’ tone became a little smug. “There is no indication the humans are aware of our presence in these underground facilities, high priestess. Quintessence distillation has begun and proceeds at the expected rate.”

Haggar paused, as Macidus’ report appeared to end. She turned to regard him, waiting.

Her servant did not sigh, but did take the hint. “Humans can be converted at a rate of two percent, high priestess,” Macidus concluded. “There is quintessence sensitivity but three percent of those who have it do not possess it at useful levels. They can be made thralls but no more.”

Haggar waved a hand, dismissing that. “Continue the experiments. I wish to know any common factors to this sensitivity. These primitives brought down a ten thousand year empire. If _harnessed_, that will prove useful. They are….young. Young enough, perhaps, to be guided.”

Macidus bowed. “The stronghold’s construction continues. And the placing of agents.” He paused. “What do you wish done with the old one, high priestess?”

Haggar looked back at the closed door. Beyond it, Sanda. “...Create a scenario that allows her to ‘escape’,” she said. “Give her a thrall agent.”

“Yes, high priestess,” said Macidus, and departed to see to it.

~*~

Keith slept, when he slept, half-draped over Shiro. Not over his chest – that was bandaged, and couldn’t have any pressure on it at all. But an arm across Shiro’s stomach, his head pillowed on Shiro’s human arm. The cybernetic one had been badly damaged in Sendak’s final squeeze, and Pidge promised to fix it when she’d cleared the other Deeply Urgent things that needed doing.

So Keith woke immediately when Shiro stirred, though it was late enough at night that even Steve was asleep, and Krolia too. The two had stayed and followed Keith’s lead, keeping people out and helping see to Shiro’s needs. Keith had no idea who Steve was or what his agenda was, but he trusted Krolia. She’d brought him in, she had a reason.

Shiro blinked bleary eyes at the dark ceiling. “Keith,” he croaked.

Keith sat up, poured Shiro a glass of water. “I’m here.”

“I know.” The tone was gallows, dry. “Tell them no more drugs, Keith.” He waited for Keith to use the controls to raise the head of the bed, and sipped the water.

Keith frowned. “...They said you’re in a lot of pain.”

Shiro’s eyes closed briefly as he sipped water. “...Yeah,” he admitted. “Almost missing medical pods right now. But I’d rather the pain than this _fog_. I feel….stupid. Slow. I hate it.”

Keith frowned, but nodded. “If that’s what you want, I’ll make sure,” he agreed.

Shiro’s eyes closed, but he moved his hand to stop Keith from lowering the mattress again. “...I didn’t kill him, did I.”

“He died because of you,” said Keith, and the tone assigned no blame. It was an arrangement of words, no more. “He hurt you.” And that _was_ a judgment. Shiro could hear the crack in it that was the clone ship’s legacy. He reached out and took Keith’s hand in his, squeezed gently.

“Wasn’t expecting...that,” Shiro admitted. “He lost control. The only time I’ve ever seen Sendak lose control.” He was silent for a few breaths, and Keith wondered if he’d fallen asleep again. Then he said, “Tell me the rest.”

“It’s only been a few days,” said Keith quietly. “Anywhere that didn’t have a dome, or where the dome failed, got hit really hard. But most of the rest of the planet’s in celebrations. Lance and Hunk are ...there’s a place they’ve taken the people that were in tanks. Lot of ...therapists, brain scientist types. Also a lot of restraints and thick walls and that kind of thing in case they wake up violent. Pidge is trying to finish the new comm room so we can call Allura.” He paused. “Pidge has your arm, too. Sendak kind of crunched it.”

“You should go help Hunk and Lance,” said Shiro quietly. “I won’t be doing much here for a while yet.”

“The whole world wants the Black Paldin’s heroic story of killing the enemy general,” said Keith flatly. “We’ve literally been beating them away from the door. I should be here.”

“You trust your mother,” said Shiro quietly. “I will, too. Lance and Hunk need their friend, Keith.” When Keith still looked _deeply_ reluctant, Shiro said, “You _have_ to go. Because I can’t. Do you understand?”

Keith’s mouth twisted. A frown, a grimace. This was...abandoning an injured and vulnerable mate. It did _not_ sit well. But arguing would be Being Overprotective, and he knew _very_ well what Shiro thought of people being Overprotective at him. Keith had, after all, had a front row seat to the end of his relationship with Adam.

He was therefore surprised and touched when Shiro gently reached out to cup his chin in his fingers, a light and loving caress. “I won’t be in any danger,” Shiro said softly. “Your mother and her new friend will be here. You know she’ll handle the wolves at the door.”

Keith noted that Shiro did _not_ say he wouldn’t push himself, or take risks with his health. Shiro wasn’t going to promise that for anyone. But he was willing to compromise this far, understanding that Keith’s need to protect didn’t come from any assumption of inherent weakness on Shiro’s part. Which was accurate and true; if there weren’t a small horde of media men with cameras outside from dawn to dusk Keith wouldn’t have quite the same problem. And in return, Shiro needed Keith to do the things that he, due to injury, could not personally see to.

Keith bowed his head. “I know,” he said, and the tone conceded defeat. “I’ll...do what I can. But I’m coming back here in the evenings.”

“Good,” said Shiro, almost sleepy now. “I’ll want you to tell me everything. I don’t intend to stay in this bed a minute longer than I have to. Even if it means one of those Altean medical pods.”

Keith gently kissed Shiro’s fingers as Shiro drifted back into sleep, and then lowered the mattress back to horizontal. He glanced over to see that the quiet conversation had, of course, woken Krolia. He tilted his head at her, silently asking how much she’d heard.

She got up. “I will acquire some weapons,” she said. “For Steve and myself. We will protect him with our lives. Count on it.”

Keith blinked. He still had no idea who Steve was, so Krolia making that kind of promise on his behalf was a bit startling. But – Shiro had given him a job, and he would do it. It wasn’t that he wasn’t concerned for Lance or Hunk, after all. Just that he was even _more_ concerned for Shiro.

~*~

“Sendak is no more, your majesty,” rumbled Kolivan. “Krolia confirms it.”

Ezor grumped and ‘aww’d’ at the news; no bounty hunting trip _now_. “The paladins said Earth doesn’t have any kind of actual defenses!”

Kolivan shook his head. “Some basic barriers,” he agreed. “According to Krolia, the paladins ferried humans to Sendak’s cruisers and defeated them in direct combat.”

Lotor blinked. “Humans are rather small,” he said. “And their weapons, by report, are primitive.” He smiled a little evil smile. “Being defeated in such a manner must have been galling for Sendak.” The tone practically screamed, _good_.

“Indeed, your majesty,” Kolivan agreed. “The humans sustained significant losses on the cruisers, but it didn’t particularly matter. There were thirty humans per galra at that point. Krolia reports that humans are now studying Sendak’s cruisers.”

“One hopes the paladins will remind their fellows that the power and fuel systems are corruptive,” mused Lotor. He glanced over at Ezor. “Do stop _moping_, Ezor. With Sendak removed, the remnants of the Fire of Purification will turn on each other and collapse. We need do no more than make certain of it. You and Zethrid are welcome to visit Earth at your leisure.” When Acxa turned to face him, Lotor added, “You may go with them, Acxa. Keep them from starting a new war, if you please.” He returned his attention to Kolivan.

The old galra coughed and got back to his report. “There is no sign of Haggar,” he said. “Or any of her druids. Sendak’s personal cruiser was protected by their magic, but no one reported facing or even seeing a druid on his ship. Or any of the other vessels.”

Lotor’s amusement faded. “That witch can _not_ be allowed to escape,” he said firmly. “She will _find_ a new toy and there is no end to the trouble she will cause once she has. Ezor!”

Ezor, who had been happily bouncing to the distant entrance to the great hall – Zarkon had loved making people practically hike just to get to conversation distance – froze in her tracks. She turned, big yellow eyes in full pleading-puppy mode.

“A mission for the three of you,” said Lotor. “You will make _certain_ that neither Haggar nor her druids survives to return to my domain. And you may take the Sincline, though against Haggar it might do you little good.”

Ezor’s face split in a wide, toothy grin. “Thank you, Lotor!” she chirped, and bounded off.

Acxa sighed. “This could be difficult,” she pointed out. “We do not have much that can catch a druid.”

“On the contrary, general,” said Kolivan. “The Blade of Marmora is trained in exactly that. And Krolia is a senior agent. If the three of you will report to my forgemaster before you depart, he can see you outfitted with Blades. Pick up the one for Keith while you are about it. Report to Krolia on your arrival. She will see to your training in druid-hunting.”

Acxa’s eyes widened. This was..._trust_. From Kolivan. She bowed. “Of course,” she said. “Thank you.”

“We must all work toward the future we wish to see, general,” said Kolivan solemnly.

Lotor waited until his three generals had departed before remarking, “So you are committed, then.”

“I was committed the day I introduced myself to you, your majesty,” said Kolivan. “But some things must find their proper time.”

“You have no fear I might betray you?” Lotor asked, possibly too mildly.

“Your father was wrong about a great many things, your majesty,” said Kolivan. “It is not trust if there is no possibility of betrayal. It is slavery. You do not appear to have a use or desire for slaves.”

A strange expression flickered across Lotor’s face, for just a moment. “...Indeed,” he said. “In that vein, you should present this report to Princess Allura. I am certain she will wish news of her friends. And with Sendak gone, I think her people have an excellent opportunity to step forward.”

“Indeed,” Kolivan echoed.

~*~

It was a peculiar thing, to realize that there were conditions so new, so strange, that people studying something even broadly similar would compete for the chance to be involved. But that was exactly what was happening.

There weren’t many people who had been put into the tanks. Sendak had only had a few dozen cruisers. That meant that the vast majority of those who _had_ been, were relatives of Lance or Hunk. And somehow, the fact that most of the victims came from just two families...narrowed down the response. It wasn’t something that came up on evening news, for example. It wasn’t listed among the tragedies that Sendak had brought to Earth.

Neuroscientists and therapists, though – anyone working in either field heard pretty much everything that was known.

The building they’d taken over for this ‘project’ was one devoted to neuroscience, since the scientists needed more equipment to do their tests. While the victims were still unconscious, brain scans were taken and studied, blood tests, pretty much anything that might provide an indication of what, exactly, had been _done_.

Lance and Hunk were both worried, miserable, and...largely ignored. Voltron hadn’t saved the planet singlehandedly. Thousands had died – both in the attacks, and in the counterattack that followed. Here, they were just worried young men, although Hunk managed to win some points with the neuroscientists by refining some of their equipment.

Lance...mostly just got to watch through observation windows while his family was scanned and tested, one by one. At one point, just to have something to do with his hands, he started using Keith’s dagger to carve little pictures in the glass of the observation windows. It was supposedly shatterproof, bulletproof glass – but then, nothing on Earth had been tried against Marmora blades. He wasn’t much of an artist so he mostly just scratched geometric patterns, but it still got him firmly sent to a waiting room.

Time _crawled_ in waiting rooms. It was a relief to hear a Lion’s roar outside. Pidge, maybe, bringing news from Allura? Shiro? Lance didn’t dare leave the waiting room, in case there was news. So he – well, _waited_. As hard as that was, and as tempting as it was to draw his bayard and take potshots at extraneous lighting fixtures and the snack machines.

But when the door opened, it was just Keith. Lance sighed. “No news, huh. Why’d Red roar? I assume that was Red.”

“This place is apparently a research center now,” said Keith. “I don’t look like a scientist and I’m not related to anyone being treated, so they wanted me to stay out. I told them they could let me in through the front door, or Red would bite a hole or six in their roof.”

Lance blinked. “You’re bullying people with a Lion now?”

“Making arguments shorter,” Keith corrected. “Where’s Hunk?”

“Oh, is he why you’re here?” Lance asked, deflating a bit. “Uh. I think he started arguing with someone about a brain-scanning thing they have and then ripped the cover off a...thing...and last I heard he was waist deep in circuitry. I _think_ they’re letting him. I’m not sure he gave them a choice.”

“You both are,” said Keith. “Shiro’s...awake. In a lot of pain because he refused the medications, but awake. And ...you know. Wanting news.”

“Woke up, snarled about being in a fog, and sent you because he can’t come,” Lance summarized, nodding. “I’d...argue, but it’d probably take Shiro to get me to leave here right now. I don’t know what’s going on, not any of it. They won’t tell us anything. They _were_ letting me watch, but-” he stopped. Took out Keith’s dagger, and handed it back. “Uh. You kinda left this in Sendak. I grabbed it before we left. Figured you had your hands full with Shiro.”

Keith accepted it with relief. “Thanks,” he said. “I only remembered it this morning when I wanted to give it to Krolia. She’s keeping the press off Shiro while I’m away.” He sheathed the dagger at his back. “If it helps...she also sent word back to central command, of everything that’s happened. Used Blade code, so it didn’t have to wait for Pidge.”

“Is Pidge gonna be much longer?” asked Lance. “I’d...honestly, I was hoping Allura might be able to help. She’s got, like, the opposite of druid magic, right?”

Keith shook his head. “She’s also got Shiro’s arm and her own family to check on. She’s barely slept and _definitely_ hasn’t left that comm room they’ve been building. She’s doing all she can, but. You know. Hunk’s _here_. They’re much faster when they work together. But I don’t think he’d leave here any more than you.”

Lance’s lips thinned, and Keith belatedly realized Lance had been actively avoiding thinking about the family he couldn’t help. For at least a few moments. “Show me,” said Keith.

“I can’t,” Lance began. “I got edgy and was carving -”

“I said _show me,”_ Keith repeated. And this time his bayard was in his hand.

And Lance...looked relieved. “It’s this way,” he said. And sure enough, when he left the waiting room and people tried to stop them, Keith simply stepped forward and started picking people up by the collars.

“You can be helpful or you can be gone,” turned out to be surprisingly effective when spoken by someone who didn’t _look_ like he could pick up three hundred pound orderlies with one hand, who also had particularly sharp looking canine teeth. The orderlies and doctors trailed after the two like a comet’s tail, and Lance led Keith to the observation room with the slightly-decorated-in-one-corner window, through which his family could be seen.

They were awake. Struggling. Screaming in deep terror. All of them. Orderlies kept trying to pin them down long enough to get sedatives into them.

Lance gestured at the window miserably. “Hunk’s family isn’t any better. It – we took too long to find them.”

Keith released his bayard, studying them. “Maybe,” he agreed. He sniffed the air. “But it’s not just that.” He drew his Marmora dagger and headed for the door to the patients’ area.

“Hey!” Lance protested. “We did _not _do all that just so you could _kill_ them!” He tried tackling Keith, which resulted in Lance discovering that some time practicing the Altean broadsword was no match for literal years of hand to hand combat experience. Keith caught him and flipped him ass over teakettle, onto his back on the floor.

“Get a grip,” Keith snapped. “I’m _not_ going to kill your family and even if I were I certainly wouldn’t do it in _front_ of you. Haggar’s got her hooks in them. I can’t pull them out but I can cut her lines. It’ll give them a chance. Now are you going to stay still or do I have to punch you?”

Lance blinked. Keith had a very _weird_ way of being reassuring. But he had a point – if he _had_ decided the survivors needed to be put out of their misery, he wouldn’t do it right _now_. Not in front of everyone. So that meant he had to be doing something else. “Then...what’s the knife for?”

“Line cutting,” said Keith. Evidently he judged Lance had a sufficient grip, because he let go of him. The display had orderlies going for caches of tranq guns, but Lance waved them off as he got up.

“No. He means it. He won’t kill them. This is magic stuff. We don’t have a rulebook for magic stuff.”

To scientists and other orderly-minded people, it was hardly a sufficient explanation. But Lance _was_ surviving kin. The doctors and orderlies stood back – with great reservation – while Keith approached Lance’s mother with his dagger drawn. She was screaming in fear and...ferocity, the way one might when cornered by a large number of enemies. Keith was strong enough to hold her down...and with his dagger, cut a little, light cut along her arm.

The burst of light blinded everyone for a few seconds. When the blur cleared, Lance’s mother lay still.

Keith stood back _quickly_, letting the doctors verify her lifesigns. One, however, studied the cut. “Hey we need biohazard! What’s this black stuff?”

On the other side of the observation window, Lance looked both pale and particularly green, and like he was only not throwing up or crying by sheer force of will. Mouth firmly closed, possibly as a counter to nausea, he gestured Keith should do the rest.

Keith nodded, and – for the moment ignoring the demands for explanations by the staff - obeyed. Until the room was again silent.

One of the doctors approached Keith to ask him to hold the dagger up. Verifying that it had no means of injecting any weird black stuff, nor was it coated in the material.

Lance shoved his way past the now-rather-bewildered orderlies to check on his family. They were clammy to the touch, skin sticky with sweat. “...Now what?”

Keith shrugged. “I knew this much because the Blades told me they did this to me, when they cut me loose,” he said. “And I could smell Haggar’s magic on them. I don’t know where they go from here.”

One of the doctors, an old fellow in a wheelchair with some fresh stitches visible, scooted forward. “Excuse me….paladin,” he said, letting the title stand in for uncertainty how to address him. “But if you’ve been through this perhaps you can record for us an accounting of the experience. From your perspective. We might be able to use it to extrapolate how to help these unfortunates.”

Keith blinked, but any desire to refuse got shut down by Lance’s expression. It said clearly that he’d beg if he had to. It wasn’t something Keith felt he could stomach seeing. He compromised with, “Not all at once. I have to get back to Shiro in the evening. But I’ll come record for you when I can. For now I should see the others. If they need cutting loose too.”

Lance moved to go with him and Keith put both hands on his shoulders. “I’ve got this. You stay with them. You remember how I was when you all brought me back. Nobody else in here has a clue. You stay.”

~*~

Shiro was – somewhat to the surprise of Krolia – technically a Good Patient. He was awake a lot more as the pain medications wore off, but he didn’t immediately try to, for example, get up and start Doing Things.

Part of this was simple sense; Shiro had had time to understand Keith now, and that while Keith would absolutely back off if Shiro insisted, he would also be hurt – as in _injured_, in some internal way – if by backing off Shiro in any way got worse. Putting Keith in a position where he both had to trust Shiro’s judgment and knew he _couldn’t_ trust it was...particularly not-healthy. So Shiro was learning to think certain courses of action out a bit more. Not because he feared dying, but simply because he now accepted that he _would_ be taking Keith with him if he did so his reasons should be good ones.

But part of it was, because Shiro was never going to stop being Shiro, a bit subversive. Nobody had said anything about sending his _consciousness_ somewhere else. Only moving his physical body. And with the pain medication wearing off, he was increasingly alert.

And he had _questions_ for the Black Lion.

Distance wasn’t a problem. Shiro had kind of expected it to be – the Black Lion was _huge_ and therefore rested near the edge of the endomed area that surrounded the Garrison. Easily a mile or more off. But once Shiro was lucid enough to reach for the Lion he felt it respond, acknowledging his presence. It did not roar, but it did sit up. It let Shiro see through its eyes easily, and Shiro could watch the business of the Garrison going on. Mostly celebrations, by the look of things, but he could also see the MFE pilots taking off and landing at regular intervals, picking people up and only stopping when their ships needed a recharge.

Black could easily follow their trajectories to the galra cruisers still floating in orbit above. In fact, when Shiro looked through Black’s eyes in that direction, Black could see through the atmosphere without a problem. Makeshift airlocks had been built around the breach points – since humans couldn’t automatically operate galra controls. The MFE pilots were dropping scientists off at those airlocks before dropping down to Earth again. _Huh. _But of course, that was what human beings _did_, wasn’t it? Now that the cruisers weren’t a threat, they were a shiny new thing to study and understand. They were probably doing everything from decoding the operating system to taking paint chips off the walls for chemical analysis. Shiro had never seen any other race do that, not even the Olkari. Because they already knew what it was all made of? Or was this a case of humans being Different?

He was getting distracted. “I meant to talk to you,” he said to the Lion. “I think you know what’s happening. With me and Keith. Keith certainly seems to think you do.”

Black’s deep rumble was almost below human hearing, it was so low-pitched. It lowered its head again, and this time Shiro found himself in the black, starry void of Black’s internal realm.

And Shiro was not alone here. To his surprise, a translucent _white_ lion, like the one from Oriande – no, wait, that wasn’t right. This _was_ the lion from Oriande – was standing calmly between Black’s giant metal paws.

“Oookay,” said Shiro slowly. “So...we’re...one being? I’m giving you a ride somewhere? I don’t think we actually got around to introductions. I’m Shiro.”

The white lion roared, and the blast threw Shiro...somewhere.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter may be a bit slow, because Holiday Weekend and travel and family - y'all know the drill - and I hate to leave you on a cliffhanger, but the next bit kind of needed its own chapter.


	13. Flying the Astral Plane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh man. SO much to cover. And a lot of the White Lion for those that were wondering.
> 
> Just to warn, I really need to catch up with some of the non-center cast of this fic, so the next chapter is likely to be more about where they're all at.

Shiro floated alone in a starless void. No suit, and two flesh and blood arms, so definitely a vision.

And not _quite_ starless. Space was particularly empty here, not so much as dust or a twinkle in the distance, except for exactly one spot where _all_ the stars seemed to be. _Seeing the universe from outside?_ He wondered. _Or seeing the beginning?_ Given the source of all this, Shiro tentatively guessed the former. The Lions hadn’t been _around _for the -

The stars were moving.

No.

Something was moving in and among the stars.

Will was movement; in wanting to better see what was going on, Shiro found himself floating closer to the cluster of stars.

It _was_ the whole universe. Moving closer, each ‘star’ was a galaxy, a small but slowly growing sphere of galaxies expanding outward into void. But the void wasn’t _nothing_. A barrier the thickness of a soap bubble seemed to define the edge of the universe from something darker than darkness, something hungry.

And in the center of all, a light that threw out new stars, new galaxies, like an explosion in very very slow motion. Or maybe just an explosion so _large_ that it looked that way.

Shiro mused, “Okay, so...big bang theory? Except I thought I was asking why I can now hear Keith thinking.”

There was a metallic rumble behind him; he turned and nothing was there, but Shiro smiled and shut up. The Black Lion did not like explaining things twice, apparently.

His astral form drifted into the soap bubble of the universe. Into a galaxy – not one he recognized off hand, but then this might well be a matter of _billions_ of years going by in moments – and saw a lion cub, or what really looked like one, trying in its big-pawed, bumbly way to keep up with its majestic mother. Both the lioness and her cub were white, with pale blue illuminated points to their fur. Like Cosmo, but color-inverted.

_Oh_. So this was the White Lion’s story? Shiro settled in to make sense of it all, now that he had _something_ to connect the vision to his question. The little lion was one of many, scattered across the many many galaxies. But this one survived all dangers to grow and transform, and it did so because – much as Keith had rescued the abandoned cosmic wolf pup – someone took the cub in.

They looked like Alteans, only more...well, elf-y. More like what Shiro had come to expect an ‘elf’ to look like, at any rate. Pointy ears, willowy frames, a tendency toward neo-greek draping garments. The young white lion was taken in by a woman of this kindred, and loved, and taught. Nothing mystical, somewhat to Shiro’s surprise. Just ...well, the basics of what made a person a good person. The lion cub being rather brighter than any lion on Earth, took it all in.

The white lion mourned when, in the course of time, its adopted person grew old and died. But by then her friends and kin had also come to love the lion, now full-grown (and large! Shiro hadn’t a lot of experiences with Earth lions up close outside of zoos, but he was quite certain the white lion was _much_ bigger), and they showed the lion the magics their kind were developing. Magics that took the light from the heart of the universe and spun it into creation, into modification.

Shiro realized he was looking at what Allura called the Life-Givers. Now he wanted to step back, see if this was happening elsewhere in the universe, but the vision did not respond to his will this time. This story was going to get told in its own time and its own way, and Shiro was stuck being along for the ride.

At least it was interesting, even if it hadn’t gotten anywhere near answering his question yet.

The White Lion – now big and majestic enough to deserve the capitals – seemed to drink in all that the Life Givers wanted to teach and develop. But the _Lion_ was also aging, and changing, becoming a spirit. Not by the usual way, where one simply died and left a body behind, but more like the energy within it was slowly consuming the physical form.

The Life Givers saw it, and out of love for their Lion, created a sanctuary for it. Somewhere it might be safe, and teach as it had been taught, if it found those people worthy. They built Oriande for the Lion in the same way Shiro had seen humans build elaborate catios for their pet cats.

And the universe moved on. The Life Givers faded much as their Lion had, and retreated into the sanctuary they’d made or returned to the light at the heart of the universe. And _now_ the vision zoomed out again, and let Shiro see – the Lion had never been the only one of its kind. Rare, certainly – _astonishingly_ rare, when considered on a universal scale – but there were others. Not all lions, either. Birds, wolves, cats. Whatever form seemed suited to an environment. Every world everywhere had a reflection of at least one. Most of them died long, long before attaining that final astral state. But one or two, like the White Lion, found sanctuary among a friendly people. The Life-Givers were hardly the only ones, in the early days of the universe, to have developed power over the essence of creation. They were just, perhaps, the most overtly benevolent.

Shiro watched in fascination as another cosmic wolf, of long ago, seemed to find the progenitors of the galra. And that story did not play out as peacefully as the White Lion’s had; the early galra were not gatherers and weavers, but hunters. The wolf learned to hunt as they hunted, to sense the trail of life and the strength of it, to find the best prey to feed the people. Learned to sense the presence of predators greater than itself, too, and conceal itself from them. Where the Life-Givers had focused on invention and healing, the proto-galra focused on seeking and knowing. And when their wolf friend took its astral form, the sanctuary they made for it was on Daibazaal.

Shiro turned this around in his mind. “No, that doesn’t make sense,” he said aloud. “Keith didn’t learn the things he did on Daibazaal. It was destroyed. He went to Oriande. Shouldn’t he have learned what the White Lion teaches?”

The White Lion appeared before Shiro at that point, and he was reminded again that it was _very_ large. And also that currently he didn’t have any kind of weapon if he angered it. Which didn’t _stop_ him, as such, but did invite a degree of contemplation. The Lion turned its head to look in a particular direction, and Shiro followed its gaze.

In the night sky above Daibazaal...you could see Altea. “Was there _that_ much overlap?”

But it seemed their was. Both Altea and Daibazaal developed spacefaring species, but the Alteans had farther to travel to reach Oriande, where the Galra’s guide was right there. The Alteans had no competitors on their own world, but the Galra developed through the merging and subsequent extinction of several different varieties of proto-galra that fought and intermingled. And one of the species the galra fought and intermingled _with_, were Alteans.

“So you learned some of what their wolf knew, and I suppose the wolf learned from you, too,” Shiro mused. “He’s not the first galtean you taught.”

The White Lion drew Shiro’s attention back to Daibazaal, and the reality comet that utterly destroyed the star-wolf’s sanctuary. “And the Alteans never knew.”

The Lion nudged Shiro, and he saw that this was not true. _Alfor_ hadn’t known; Alfor was one of the Lion’s students, as were many of Altea’s upper class. But there had been warrior Alteans, too, and some had followed the Wolf’s ways, traveling to Daibazaal for their initiation rather than Oriande. And they were vocal in their view that this comet heralded _nothing_ good.

In the vision the rift looked different. It looked like a tear in the soap bubble. And through the tear, darkness came.

Shiro had seen this part of the story before – the dark blob, and Alfor making the Lions out of the ore of the comet. But this time there was a new element; the White Lion showed him more of what Alfor had _done_, that the Black Lion itself was less aware of. Alfor had infused the Lions with the light at the heart of the universe, the light that pushed that soap bubble outward even as the darkness pushed it inward. And each facet of light was a little different, the elements of Life. Air, Earth, Fire, Water, Spirit. Green, red, yellow, black, blue.

But the Lions were just the biggest, most powerful weapons. There had, once, been many others. All those taught by the Lion and the Wolf, and all the others like them across the universe. One by one, Zarkon had found them and destroyed them. The wolf of Daibazaal had been only the first. The lion of Oriande was the last.

“But...you’re here,” said Shiro. “You’re not dead.”

The Lion shook its head, which was an interesting effect to see with the stars in its mane. The astral form of the Lion dissipated into spheres of light connected by thin lines; one went into Shiro’s chest, and others flew off into the vision. One was shown in Keith. One in Allura. Other alteans were shown; Shiro recognized their faces as those who had come back from Oriande as alchemists.

_Now_ Shiro understood. “We both have a bit of your power. And we’re both connected to the Black Lion. So when I’m piloting Black...we connect more strongly than we did.” He pursed his lips. “You took the really long way of explaining that for a reason, though, I’m sure.”

The vision panned out again. Just as the white lion had become motes of light, enhancing the powers of many in positive ways, so the darkness outside the soap bubble planted seeds of darkness in others. And the vision panned out further. Light and dark in constant battle for the soap bubble. Sometimes it seemed the dark would win, sometimes the light was on the verge of pushing the darkness out completely.

“But it never stops,” Shiro realized. “Is that what you’re telling me? This isn’t a war we can win?” He frowned. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not a war worth fighting. Maybe we can’t win – but we can _lose_, if we give up.”

And now the darkness seemed to grow, to push out the points of light, until only a handful were left. Clustered around them were the five colored lights, brighter than they.

The Lions, yes, but...”Are you telling me the Lions are capable of more than we’ve used them for?” asked Shiro. He _knew_ the Lions were capable of a hell of a lot, but when it came down to it they still seemed...well..._fighting machines_. If you weren’t fighting on a battlefield, it didn’t seem like they were the right choice. You couldn’t – or at least, probably shouldn’t – try to remove one corrupt general with a Lion. Or was that only because the general Shiro was using as a hypothetical was human? How much would the paladins have done differently, if this _hadn’t_ been Earth?

The White Lion didn’t leave Shiro much time for pondering. The vision closed in on those colored lights. The Lions, yes, but in this vision their power shimmered about them like auras. They lived, they thought. But they were rather significantly more alien than most, well, _aliens_ the paladins had ever met. Their thoughts came across as concepts, feelings. Shiro reached out to the Black Lion, doing his damndest to try to just _understand_.

“You’d do better trying to understand the motivations of your own left ear,” rumbled a very deep voice, and Shiro jumped sideways, away from it, only to find it was, in fact, the White Lion talking.

“You talk! Why all the visions if you could just answer the question?”

The White Lion sat down, tail curling around astral paws. “You asked a more complex question than you realized. And you cannot be allowed to remain ignorant of the wider battle before you. You call yourself ‘paladin’. You are required to accept the responsibility of that mantle.”

Above and beyond being talked to by a giant white translucent sparkly cat in a vision – which was, on the face of it, rather a lot to just take at face value – Shiro rather thought that was a high demand given that the paladins _had_ just succeeded in dismantling a ten thousand year old evil empire. If _that_ didn’t constitute ‘accepting the responsibility of the mantle’, what _did?_

The White Lion stared at Shiro like it could read his thoughts printed in large font on the inside of the back of his skull. It did not seem at all impressed.

“You have been told certain things about the nature of the Lions which are not untrue, but can be considered incomplete,” said the White Lion. “You must understand their true nature to make full use of the power they offer you.”

Shiro blinked. “...Okay,” he conceded. “I’m listening.” Do not argue with giant space cats. Do not argue with giant space cats. Maybe the frustrating nature of cats _was_ a universal constant.

A low growl from the White Lion reminded Shiro that this one could read his mind. Daily meditation became unexpectedly useful; Shiro cleared his mind of thought.

“Begin with the one you know,” said the White Lion. “Look, with an open mind. _See_ the Black Lion, free of what you have been told to expect.”

Shiro obeyed, watching the vision of the Black Lion. This was the past, or at least it started there. He watched Zarkon in the early days, the king even other kings would follow into battle.

It was a little surprising to realize Zarkon was kind of a dork. Prone to stuttering when outside the areas where he was strongest – statesmanship, battlefields. His devotion to Honerva, and to his people. And the slow corruption that was the desire for more power, to keep them _forever_ safe, and the frenzy of trying to make love something that couldn’t break him. It reminded Shiro a lot of Keith – or, at least, Keith as he might have been. Keith loved him; Shiro knew that implicitly, now. What divided Keith from Zarkon was Keith accepted there were some measures Shiro didn’t want Keith to take. That Shiro regarded some prices as too high to pay.

But was that _because_ they’d seen, in visions like these, where Zarkon and Honerva’s love had led? A mistake that had to be made so it could be learned from?

He was sidetracking himself. Shiro focused his attention on Zarkon, on the world of ‘then’, and how Zarkon had bonded with the Black Lion. What had caused such a powerful bond?

Not command, certainly. Shiro _knew_ that was wrong, and had told Zarkon so, though he could see why Zarkon made the mistake. Certainty, maybe. Zarkon, both before his death and after it, was never _uncertain_. He knew his course so powerfully he dragged others in his wake. ‘Leadership’, perhaps. Though ‘leadership’ had implications that didn’t really apply to Zarkon’s style. Zarkon hadn’t cared, post-death, what anyone thought, or if they fared well under his reign.

No, it had to be that _will_. The head of Voltron steered the whole.

“The Black Lion is the Guardian of Sky, to some peoples,” said the White Lion. “The realm of spirit. The Black Lion is the Guardian of the Spirit of _Voltron_. Who pilots the Black Lion defines the nature of Voltron’s soul.”

“But it still boils down to Black being the leader,” Shiro pointed out. “Which is what Allura told me at the outset.”

“What makes the Black Lion choose a pilot is the one whom others are drawn to,” said the White Lion. “You. Your clone. Keith. Zarkon. Not all were leaders. Not all were _good_ leaders. But all were ones that others felt strongly about. All had a will that pulled others in their wake, willingly or no.”

The White Lion padded away from the vision of Black, then, toward the other colored lights. Shiro, mulling this idea over, followed somewhat more slowly.

They stopped when the Red Lion could be seen through the light of its aura. “Watch,” said the White Lion.

This time, Shiro got to watch Alfor in his youth. And it was strange to consider the Red pilots, when he really thought about it, because Alfor and Keith didn’t really seem to have much in common. Neither did Keith and Lance, when it came down to it.

Allura had said Red’s pilot relied more on instinct than skill. Which was a polite way of calling them impulsive. Red was the most temperamental of the Lions, demanding loyalty tests before accepting new pilots. Maybe that had something to do with it. Trust. Impulsive people tended to get in trouble without someone willing to do the work of balancing out their rash decisions.

And that someone was always _Black’s_ pilot, Shiro realized. Red’s choice was relational – someone with skill, but someone also willing to put Black’s pilot (_specifically_ Black’s pilot) in the final decisionmaking spot. Which had to be why you got Black and Red in pairs; a new Black meant a new Red. Lance had been Red for both Keith and Ryou because Lance had _specifically chosen_ to accept the leadership of both. Alfor couldn’t – and neither could Keith. Red’s pilots put Black’s pilot to a test before accepting them. Red put its own pilots through the same test. “It’s not about instinct at all,” Shiro realized. “It’s about trust – a very specific kind of trust.”

“The Red Lion is the Guardian of Fire,” said the White Lion. “Passion is its strength and also its weakness; with trust it becomes courage. Without support it is easily shattered. More than the others, the Red Lion depends on the pull of the Black to maintain its course.”

The White Lion padded on, and Shiro followed while thinking this perspective over. _Passion_. That...fit, actually. Lance was laid back about it compared to Alfor or Keith, but he did what he did because he _believed_ in it, believed it needed to be done and he’d been chosen to be part of it.

They stopped before the Green Lion now. “It’s been pretty stable though,” Shiro noted. “Both pilots were highly intelligent.” Passion. Did that mean - “Reason?” Shiro guessed. “To balance out the impulsiveness of Red?”

“Well done,” said the White Lion. “Reason and Emotion. To be worthy of Black you must have the loyalty of both a mind that is difficult to sway and a heart that is slow to trust. They are Voltron’s hands, the most active parts of the whole.”

Shiro’s lips pursed. “Pidge hasn’t been too thrilled with me lately.”

“Perhaps that should tell you something,” said the White Lion.

This time, they didn’t walk. Blue and Yellow just _loomed_ over Shiro and the White Lion. “And these?”

It was...easy, weirdly, once he thought about it. “Stability and Change. The other factions any leader has to choose between.”

“Or balance,” said the White Lion. “This is where Zarkon failed. He saw the Black Lion as commanding the other four and was strong enough in the dark power to impose his will. But you did not succeed against him alone. These four accepted _you_ as Black’s Pilot. The balance between reason and emotion, stability and change.”

Hunk, the stable rock, who wanted nothing more than to be able to go home to his family and have that be all right. Lance and Allura, adaptable and quixotic, able to change their minds and viewpoints easily when they felt the situation needed it.

Shiro had gotten used to thinking of them as his friends, his family-of-choice, his team. But each one was a paladin too, who stood for something beyond themselves, and the White Lion was quite correctly calling him out for forgetting that.

In thinking about that – about how he hadn’t really been talking to the others as much as he probably should have – Shiro realized something else. “This is why now, isn’t it. Because they can’t talk with me. Haggar’s hurt them, divided them – divided _us_. All the balances are broken.”

“You must see beyond the particulars of your species,” said the White Lion. “And hold in your mind the meaning of events as they affect the universe. The dark will cloud your judgment. It will remind you of the individualities of your kindred. It is for you to remember that each Lion, _every_ Lion, has been piloted by a leader. Each part of the whole is vital and its contribution honored. Use _every_ tool at your disposal. There are more tools before you than you know.”

“Such as a telepathic link between me and Keith,” mused Shiro. And then realized, “And Lance and Allura, I’ll bet. He isn’t an alchemist, but he’s _in_ Blue – and she’s very strong. We don’t have to wait for Pidge to finish that comm center, do we. Lance can call Allura here _himself_.”

“You begin to understand,” said the White Lion. “Don’t stop now.”

The universe flared white, brilliantly white. Shiro closed his eyes.

When he opened them, he was back in his bed. Everything definitely hurt. A _lot_. But he didn’t feel confined.

He sent his mind out to Black, and through Black to Keith. Now that he knew what he was doing, it felt laughably easy to follow the bonds. _Hey. Keith…_

~*~

Biochemists were flying in from all over the world. The ‘black stuff’ did not yet have a name – five scientists were arguing over what to call it still – but it was getting a lot of attention. Equipment to study it was _also _being flown in, and Hunk could keep himself mostly mentally level by working on that, too, tweaking it wherever he could to improve capability.

Keith kept Lance with him – partly to keep Lance from doing anything crazy, and partly so Lance could serve as a translator for the doctors treating the families. Keith himself did _not_ like hospitals, clinics, or laboratories, and this building was rapidly becoming a hodgepodge of all three at once. Lance was on _slightly_ better mental footing with regard to whether a question was justified, and decidedly better at getting doctors to explain a question’s relevance when Keith found it a bit too personal. The interviews were being recorded so that anyone currently on a different shift could view them when awake. It felt very...busy, and strange.

And then Keith just stopped talking, sitting quite still as if he’d entirely forgotten the rest of the sentence he was saying.

The doctor frowned, and looked at Lance. “Did I say something?”

Lance frowned. He couldn’t..._quite_...hear it. But something was happening, he was sure at least of that, itching at the back of his mind. “It’s not you,” he said. “It’s...magic stuff. I think.” It had better be, anyway. The itchy sensation was making him want to be in another room – or get right in Keith’s face to actually hear whatever it was better. Neither held great long-term health prospects right now.

Keith’s eyes refocused and he grinned. “We need to get back to this later,” he told the doctor, and got up to drag Lance – surprised and now a little worried – out into the hall.

“Hey, what the hell?” Lance tried to demand. “You promised you’d talk to-”

“This is more important,” said Keith firmly. “That was Shiro. He figured it out, how we can talk to each other.”

Lance blinked. “So you two are _telepathic_ now? Is this some kind of galra relationship power?”

“Yes and really no,” said Keith. “It’s more a black paladin power and an an Oriande thing rolled into one. If you’d been to Oriande then you and I could probably do the same thing through Red, so I’m glad you didn’t, but that’s not the point.”

“There’s a point?” asked Lance. “Aside from I seriously do _not_ want to see the inside of your head, especially after the edited highlights reel of your history?”

Keith put a hand on Lance’s shoulder and shook it – lightly, but pointedly. “The _point_ is, you and _Allura_ have that kind of connection. Through _Blue_.”

Lance’s eyes widened. “I could talk straight to her? No waiting for Pidge?” He stopped. “No, because you just said I needed to go to Oriande, and I didn’t -”

“_Lance_,” Keith interrupted, giving his shoulder another little shake. “_Focus_. I’m not an alchemist. Neither is Shiro. We’re like...maybe half of one, each, adding up to ‘just enough’. But Allura is _powerful_. Like, way more than even most alchemists. You don’t _have_ to have been to Oriande. She’s got power enough for both of you. Just get your ass out to Blue and start _concentrating_. Get Blue to help you. You can _talk_ to her. Tell her what’s happened here. Get her to come and bring all the alchemists willing to help.”

That did it. Lance’s eyes widened in understanding of what was being offered, how to do it. He nodded, turned, and bolted for the elevator.

There was silence for about ten seconds after the elevator door closed on Lance. Then, behind Keith, the somewhat acerbic tone of the doctor’s voice. “Well. I accept that that clearly made sense to _him_, and I hope it proves fruitful. But _you_ made an agreement. Would you kindly seat yourself again in front of the camera so we can continue the interview?”

~*~

Lance was relieved and elated to have _something_ productive he could do. The sight of his family, lying on beds in a neat little row while doctors tried everything to figure out what was going on, what was wrong – he was going to have nightmares for years to come about that waiting room. But now there was something he could do, and it was like putting a pinprick hole at the bottom of a dam. He ran for Blue, and wasn’t surprised when Blue thudded up to meet him right at the door, her jaws opening to take him in.

“We’ve been getting along great,” he told the Lion as he slid into the cockpit seat. The Lion raised her head – she would always be _she_, to Lance – and faced the sky. “I need your help. Can you feel Allura?”

The response was a kind of pleasant nerve-tingle, up from Lance’s hands – which were resting lightly on the controls. Blue wanted him to take the wheel, engage. “Right,” he said. “We’ve got to share eyes first.” He closed his own, and was honestly surprised at how easily and completely Blue’s consciousness then surrounded him. He wasn’t just seeing through Blue’s eyes – he _was_ Blue, and Blue was him. The Lion’s body responded accordingly, leaping up into the air with Lance’s internal elation. He could do this, they could _do_ this, it would _work_.

And then, somehow, they were streaking through space together. Lance didn’t remember breaking atmo, but they were going much much faster than he remembered even Red being able to go. Star systems, even galaxies spun by at a respectable fraction of wormhole speed. Toward Central Command, and a brilliant white light that had to be Allura as she appeared to Blue’s sight.

Her body bowed in shock, arching backward as the connection slammed into her. “Lance -!” she cried in pain and shock.

“Allura! It’s me! I mean us – Blue and me!” said Lance quickly. “Blue’s making the connection. You’ve gotta come to Earth, and bring every alchemist you can.”

Allura still looked stunned, shocked, her body rigid as everything poured out of Lance in a mental rush. Images and emotions – the invisible fleet, the hidden druids. Domes. Battles. The captured families. The sight of the black ichor in the wounds. It only took a few seconds, but Allura was clinging to the back of a chair for support by the end of it.

“Lance, please,” she pleaded. “This is overwhelming.”

“On this end too,” Lance replied. “Please! Pidge is still working on the comm center but it’s slow, because Hunk’s with me trying to help his family. And Haggar’s still out here and it’s just Keith that can even sense her tricks.”

Allura’s eyes were closed now, both hands clinging hard to the chair back. “Lotor’s generals are already coming,” she said. “Krolia is to train them to be Blades, to help find Haggar. I was already preparing to come – but I will call for the alchemists to join me.” She took a deep breath. Then a few more. “We – I appreciate that you can do this, but we _must_ have a discussion soon about protocol. What _else_ should I bring, while I am in a position to arrange for it?”

Lance was about to bring out the wish list – balmeras, maybe a few dozen Blades, definitely a few Olkari – when Allura’s expression changed. It went from distracted to ...embarrassed? And Lance shut his mouth and wondered what he’d said, if he’d hurt her. It wasn’t like telepathy-via-Lion came with a manual.

He nevertheless felt exposed as hell when Allura asked, gently, “...How long, exactly, have you been in love with me?”

The sheer shocked _nakedness_ the question inspired slammed Lance back into his body hard enough to leave him dazed. His eyes when he opened them were his own, showing the interior of Blue’s cockpit.

Why hadn’t Keith warned him about _that_? Lance wondered – and then realized that of course Keith wouldn’t know or think to. He was in love with Shiro but Shiro already _knew_ that, they were a pair before this whole connection thing had happened. Probably, anyway, it wasn’t like Lance asked questions that were _that_ personal. And Keith probably figured Lance was happy with Matt and it wasn’t as complicated as it actually really was.

And now his head was pounding and his heart was pounding and Lance wasn’t sure _what_ the hell to do next. This was _not_ the time for juggling relationship dynamics. There was his parents, his family, Hunk’s family, _Matt_ for Chrissakes, not to mention crazy dark magic shit with Haggar.

The controls before him briefly shone. The Blue Lion wanted Lance to resume his connection.

Lance, for just a moment, cringed. Did not want to. This _wasn’t the time_. Not for that talk. And definitely not without talking to Matt, who he honestly did miss.

But there were a lot of other things that needed to be spoken of. And really, Lance only had to _vaguely_ imagine telling his mother later, “Oh, well, I could’ve helped but I was busy trying not to talk about taking Allura on a date” to slam it all into perspective.

Lance took a deep breath or three, got a grip on himself, and took the controls. Let his consciousness merge with Blue again. This time the trip was much shorter; Allura was meeting him more than halfway.

She looked concerned.

“Business now,” Lance said quickly. “This magic stuff is great for you, but for me this is new and _extremely_ weird. And I have a lot of people depending on me. ‘Kay?”

Allura smiled. He couldn’t sense a damn thing off her – but then, she _was_ much better at this magic stuff. “Yes. Of course. I’m sorry I ...ah. Distracted you. Do please go on.”

Right. Good. “Okay. First, we’re gonna need all the alchemists you can talk into coming. And Blades. Blades would be really good. Tell the generals to look for the Black or Red lions when they come in, humans aren’t at all clear about ‘friendly galra’ right now but we do need their help...”

~*~

It was honestly relaxing to fly patrol with Black and just let his body...well, rest. Do its slow, slow healing thing. Shiro watched the MFE pilots ferrying scientists and engineers to and from the empty galra cruisers, flew out to the edge of the solar system and back just to test his range – which seemed to find solar distances No Big Deal, good to know – and then spent a while seeing things he’d always wanted to see, and hadn’t gotten a chance to before now; an up close, _personal_ look at Saturn’s rings, the moons of Jupiter (and the Red Spot storm, he’d always wanted a closer look at that) and just, generally, Explore Space. Or at least, the Space he’d grown up wondering about. Black was more than happy to show them to him. He even got to do a close fly-by of Kerberos, which felt rather vindicating.

At least until a wormhole opened up around Neptune while Shiro was investigating the surface of Venus. Black’s sensors registered the arrival and Shiro took off to see who it was.

The Sincline was fully merged, but hadn’t drawn weapons, as it came through the wormhole. It saluted the Black Lion with one hand.

_Greetings, Black Paladin,_ came Acxa’s voice over comms. _We are sent by the Emperor to assist you in dealing with Haggar, and any surviving renegades._

“Really,” said Shiro. “Glad to have you, then, but you’re going to want to disassemble and form up behind me. I’ll show you where to land. The people down there are a bit touchy about galra at the moment.”

_That is part of why we are here,_ Acxa agreed. _The Emperor wishes it known that he bears your people no ill-will. I have an agreement for the leaders of your world to look over._

Oh. _That_ would go over well. Shiro wasn’t actually sure who _was_ the ‘leader’ of Earth right now. They didn’t exactly have a single centralized government as such. More like a committee made of the biggest groups. They’d never needed to make quick decisions on a planetary scale before. Well. Iverson might know. “Uh. Sure. Okay. This way.”

Black turned on its tail, and Sincline disassembled and dropped into a diamond formation behind it, with Acxa bringing up the tail.

Ezor remarked, as they neared, _You guys really just _took over_ Sendak’s cruisers? They look like children_.

“Humans _are_ smaller than galra, usually,” Shiro agreed. “They wanted to study the ships. No reason not to.”

_There may in fact be several good reasons ‘not to’,_ Acxa replied. _But we can save that for landing. I think our ships are upsetting them._

“Yes, that’s going to happen,” Shiro agreed. “We did just survive an invasion.” Black descended into Earth’s atmosphere, returning to the Garrison. The generals stuck hard to their formation, because as soon as they were low enough they were greeted by a veritable swarm of fighter planes.

_They don’t really think these things can hurt our ships, do they?_ Ezor asked.

“They’re making the point that they’ve seen you,” said Shiro. “Play nice.”

_I am not going to land on this rock to be arrested,_ warned Zethrid. _I’ll play nice as long as they do._

Oh. That could be a problem. Shiro latched on to that telepathic link with Keith. He couldn’t get out of bed and _someone_ had to be there to speak for the generals. _Keith. Generals have come. Grab Red and be here to meet them at the Garrison. If the MPs try to arrest them-_

_It’ll be trouble,_ Keith finished. _On my way._

  
  



	14. Meanwhile, and Far Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I'm late! (Holidays, man. Holidays.) I needed to spend a little time catching up with less central characters, which included one Paladin and one side character that you may or may not recognize. Sometimes AUs are not kind.

Trevor Merisan was, at this point, _very_ ready to give this whole ‘explore new worlds’ idea a miss.

The colony did not have a name. In a fundamental sense they had no idea where they _were_ – the stars didn’t look at all familiar, and there wasn’t, for example, a friendly little blue dot up there they could pretend might be Earth. The sun itself was brighter and smaller than their own familiar friendly yellow sun, and it burned the ground during midday.

The galra had provided a shelter from the midday sun, and equipment to dig down that was much too heavy for any one person to use as a weapon. They were expected to mine, that much had been abundantly clear.

They’d lost a few dozen more hotheaded young men the first day. They’d thought maybe they could rush the few galra overseers, take their ship and get home. That was when _everyone_ found out that galra never took their armor off, were bigger and stronger than at least two humans at once, and never dealt with other species while unarmed. The would-be rebels had been left out in the sun, where the heat at midday cooked their bodies.

It made the goo that the captives were given as food look pretty appetizing. Trevor had a running tally in his mind of the people who had been heard to remark that if they ever got home they were never, ever eating meat again – because the bodies smelled like _barbecue_.

So they’d started digging. The overseers had, at first, provided exchange rates for certain rocks. You could trade them for medicine, or food for someone who couldn’t work.

But then, without warning, the overseers and their hooded...whatever those beings were...had just gone back into their ship and _left_.

At first there had been rejoicing. That had lasted all of a few hours, the hours it had taken everyone to realize that the galra had had the _ship_, and the _food_.

Cannibalism had been discussed; the galra had apparently not been _hunting_ for mine-capable slaves, and several of the captives were older, or disabled in ways that meant they weren’t very good at mining. Without medicine or any way to help them, they would probably die. Nobody really wanted to eat other people, but there was no telling if _anything_ on the planet was edible.

Trevor couldn’t answer that, as such – he’d been a therapist, not a medical doctor, or chemist, or botanist. But he did know that they couldn’t hope for rescue. It might happen, of course, but they had no way to know if anyone on Earth had any idea what had happened to them, and the universe was a huge place. They couldn’t hope to be found. Cannibalism was a short term solution; ultimately, if they weren’t rescued and there was no true food on this planet, they were all dead. End of story.

So he spoke up in the nightly discussions, asking if anyone wanted to first test the life on this world for edibility. If anyone had a science background that might help. If anyone had _any_ medical training _at all_. Those people were separated out; doctors were exempt from dangerous work because their skills were badly needed. And those willing to make guinea pigs out of themselves for the good of all were given preferential treatment, while those with any hope at all of at least identifying overtly poisonous flora and fauna were set to doing so full time.

Trevor wasn’t a young man, but he was bright enough to figure out how to use the digging tools the galra had left behind. He worked the mines, knowing that he would _not_ be listened to if anyone thought the changes he pushed for were just to get himself a cushier job. He didn’t know squat about how space worked, or plants, or anything else – but he was very, very good at knowing how _people_ worked, and with his survival depending on it he was ruthless in using that knowledge.

So he dug, first, to hollow out places for people to work and live away from that brutal sun, where they might not have to smell the bodies of their fellows cooking on the broken earth. And second, he passed those ores the galra had been willing to trade for to the scientists who might, if they were very lucky, be able to tell them _why_.

~*~

Allura was a one-woman whirlwind of activity. Which was to say, _she_ was relatively calm, and utter chaos surrounded her at all times.

Once she’d gotten Lance to calm down and _tell_ her what had happened, what was going on, Allura had understood why she was needed. The druids were without puppets now, with Sendak and his fleet destroyed. But that only meant they needed _new_ puppets, and humanity was right there, innocent and entirely trainable. Allura held no illusions that humanity might resist; that just wasn’t how people worked. Not _any_ people. Druids bent people to their way, to the darkness. What they’d been _before_ didn’t matter. Like the others she’d seen the highlights reel of Keith’s history on Earth, and gotten enough from Shiro to know that Keith wasn’t too unusual. There was darkness in the human race as well as light. It wouldn’t take Haggar long to find it and take control of it if she weren’t stopped.

Thankfully, humanity wasn’t particularly high tech yet. So if she moved quickly she might be able to stop a second Daibazaal before it happened.

Allura, however, had limited power to do all _that_ much about it. She was Princess of Altea, which was almost a meaningless word among the colonists – though they did accord her respect, and she was in some sense their leader. It was just that the colonists had never really _needed_ a single leader; that was why Lotor had been their god-king for so long. He only rarely turned up, and never actually did any ruling. Having a hands-on, politically active princess was...well, _new_. As new as the entire rest of the universe, really, and the rest of the universe was also interesting.

Still, Allura put out the call. She might be able to face down Haggar. Maybe. She wasn’t at all certain of her odds if she had to face Haggar _and_ Druids, even with Keith and Shiro and Blades to help.

Lance had had a lot to tell her about Keith and Shiro’s new tricks. Allura would have liked to be angry that they hadn’t told her themselves. She couldn’t be, though. Time alone in Central Command, around galra that ...were clearly _trying_ to be good people as an Altean would understand it, and just as clearly not quite sure _how…_ well.

It wasn’t like the entire galra race had rolled over on its back to show her its fuzzy purple belly or anything. But Lotor’s accession to the throne – and more pointedly, Sendak’s firm removal from consideration – had proven the half-Altean’s strength and that he would _not_ be easily ousted. The unlimited quintessence supply, and the conversion of cruisers to a version of quintessence fuel that _didn’t_ rely on druidic magic, both were having visible effects on galra interspecies relations. They weren’t exactly sunshine and sweetness, but they weren’t behaving like omnicidal supremacist maniacs either. Given how quickly things had changed in a species that had been spacefaring for thousands of years, it was a very hopeful sign.

Allura couldn’t hate them anymore. It would have been easier if she could, but...in their way, they’d lost at least as much of their culture as the Alteans had. And, like the Alteans, were now faced with trying to forge something new. It wasn’t easy work.

Lotor, clearly, still wanted a royal marriage alliance. But he had, if nothing else, his father’s patience when he wanted it. The invitation, if such it could be called, hung in the air. Open, but not demanding. What held Allura back was not Lotor. He’d proven his sincerity – now that the Empire was _truly_ his, to mold as he wished, she honestly barely even saw him. He spent nearly all of his waking time quashing rebellions (of galra, not other races), meeting with planetary leaders to renegotiate terms of membership in his Empire, meeting with Coalition leaders (usually with Allura present) to discuss the borders that were changing sometimes by the quintant. Allura was as much a part of all of that as she wished to be.

Which was the issue, really; she wasn’t certain any longer that she _did_ wish to be. This was the work of a princess, of a queen, of an empress. Allura wasn’t sure that she was ready to make it _her_ life. If it was time for that. Lotor seemed to know that, and maintained quite cordial but respectful distance. The choice, his actions said, was hers to make.

Right now, Allura wanted to go back to Voltron. They needed _her_. Not ‘the princess’, although that helped. And, frankly...the round-eared children were her only friends, and she missed them.

So she put out the call for alchemists to come and help. She spoke to Kolivan about transporting a squad of Blades. She send word to Olkarion that the Green Paladin needed assistance, and to the balmeras that the Yellow Paladin was looking for volunteers. She would bring them all, and show Earth how great the debt owed to the paladins was.

Everyone else, of course, had had their own plans. So Allura had to put forth every effort. In only one case had the persuasion been easy.

Matt was in the medbay, tinkering with some kind of scanner while keeping watch over his healing parents.

Allura came in, and laid everything out. And, with some embarrassment, added, “On a more personal note...were you aware that Lance appears to be in love with me?”

Matt blinked at her once or twice. “He told you that?”

“I’m...afraid it was clear in the telepathic link,” said Allura carefully. She didn’t really want to be saying this, but as she understood it, Lance and Matt _were_ in some kind of relationship. “I’m not conversant with how humans handle this?”

“Usually not telepathically,” said Matt, a touch dryly. He shook his head with a little smile. “Princess, if you could see in _my_ head you’d know I’m in the same boat he is. And we’ve got a lot of company; you’ve got a lot of admirers.” He watched, fascinated, as Allura’s delicately pointed ears got redder and redder. “You didn’t know? Really? I thought _I’d_ been clear at least. You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever _seen_. Of any species. Lance is one hundred percent in agreement with me.”

“I think I’m regretting bringing this up at all,” Allura admitted, in a strangled tone. Her throat was trying to close on its own.

Matt just grinned. “This? Is a day I am going to tell Lance _all_ about. He’ll love it. And I’m coming with you. Just as soon as we get these two recuperation tanks relocated to the castleship. It’s time Mom and Dad came home.”

~*~

Iverson had a headache. More honestly, he had a lot of little headaches that didn’t know how to form an orderly queue.

There were the cruisers. The MFEs were the only ships that could get to and from the cruisers that Earth had under its control right now, and _every_ scientist and engineer (and the companies that employed them) wanted to get on those cruisers to study everything from their software to their paint composition. And _every_ engineer, scientist, and company with an interest was trying to bribe or threaten their way to the front of the line.

There were the memorials. Thousands of people had died in the battles to _take_ those cruisers. Most of the corpses were in space. By international agreement, they would be interred in stainless steel caskets on the moon’s surface, their names embossed in the metal. The first humans to fight and die for the whole planet. Manufacturing the caskets was happening on the cruisers, with steel brought up from Earth. This took up space on the MFEs, which weren’t _cargo_ ships in any sense of the word. Iverson was expected to have Words to say at all the memorials.

There were the rebuilding efforts. Some of the domes had failed. Other areas had simply been unprotected. In both cases, descruction of property and life had been high. Iverson was not, thankfully, the _only_ person involved in clearing out the wreckage, burying the dead, and starting reconstruction. But he _was_ expected to pay attention and provide useful input, and finding the time for this was, at the moment, tricky as hell.

There were the cadets – the _paladins_, now. Iverson knew them all, trusted they were telling the truth and that this meant Earth was not only not alone, but was ultimately going to _need_ the goodwill of planets it currently hadn’t even identified on star charts. But on paper they were four ex cadets and an officially-dead lieutenant commander. And one was now also officially pretty much _the_ most illegal an alien could possibly get. There were calls – oh, lots of calls – to have the paladins detained so that ‘better, more worthy people’ could fly the Lions. This was politicspeak for ‘more loyal’; every major government wanted to put forth a candidate, especially for the Black Lion now that Shiro was injured. Iverson had seen the Lions and believed the paladins that the Lions did the choosing, but from a sheer probability perspective it was hard to argue that _no_ other humans could _possibly_ be Worthy.

There was Adam. Adam had been a pretty solid associate while Ryou was around, but there was apparently still Unresolved Baggage of Stupidity between Adam and Shiro. It meant that Iverson had to field anything even _tangentially_ to do with Shiro himself, on top of everything else he was fielding, because Adam didn’t trust himself to be impartial. Iverson was damn, damn close to not caring anymore because he had a _lot_ to sort out and the piles kept getting bigger.

And there was Keith. Specifically there was the quiet little background investigation Adam _was_ handling that had to do with how Keith had managed to get into the Garrison while being not-exactly-human. This was, thankfully, something Adam _did_ seem willing to handle, though Iverson couldn’t begin to guess why.

And as if all of these things weren’t enough, Iverson had the godawful luck to be awake and on duty when Admiral Sanda _and_ the galra prisoner were both confirmed escaped. _How_ they’d escaped, from locked quarters in the very heart of the very well manned, very alert Garrison, was due a full-scale investigation. As soon as there was someone to spare for it. The internal investigations team were still tracking down ‘General Miller’ and anyone with connections to him.

~*~

James Griffin felt like he had the flight path from the Garrison to the floating cruisers carved on the inside of his eyeballs. This was _not_ what he’d imagined being an MFE pilot would entail.

There was ‘scouring the rubble in Cuba for bodies and clues’. Then, briefly and gloriously, actually fighting the galra in aerial combat. Quickly replaced by ferrying researchers to and from the defeated cruisers, and ferrying supplies and equipment to and from the defeated cruisers. He hadn’t seen the others from his own team in days; to keep the flow of personnel and supplies constant, they were taking the trips in shifts. Six hours ferrying, eight hours to sleep, with the other ten split into two five hour chunks before and after ferrying that were used to take care of their ships and themselves.

Every now and then, Griffin would hear a Lion roar and think how wonderful it would be to just punch one of the paladins in the mouth. The Lions had a great deal more speed and carrying capacity than the MFE ships, but noooope. They stayed on the ground, or bounced around Earth. Whatever the paladins were doing, it wasn’t anything resembling actual _work_.

That’s what you got with failed cadets. A complete lack of discipline. Shiro probably had his hands full keeping them on task.

Griffin was methodically working his way through a canteen breakfast and coffee when someone with officer patches set a tray down on the table in front of him. “Mind if I join you?”

Griffin waved at the empty seat with his coffee mug. “Feel free, sir.”

“Good to know that even before coffee you recognize the stripes, cadet,” said the other, and sat down. He wore a friendly smile and an attitude Griffin recognized; ambitious. “You’re one of the MFE pilots. Saviors of Earth.”

“Maybe for the press, sir,” said Griffin neutrally. Lieutenant. Officer, but not by much. Young enough that maybe he was recently promoted.

“Don’t be so modest,” said the lieutenant. “You four have made the defense of Earth possible. Not just for now, but in the future. We’re hearing new discoveries daily thanks to your work.”

It would have been so nice to really believe that. Honestly, though, Griffin didn’t. He didn’t like the feel of those cruisers. He’d never felt _evil_ around a chunk of metal before, but those cruisers radiated _evil_. He didn’t know how the scientists could stand it. But you didn’t argue with officers, so all he said was, “Thank you, sir.”

It was not, apparently, the response the lieutenant had hoped for. He paused, then ate some of his breakfast to cover time to think. Griffin let him, because – well, officer. And also he kind of wanted to finish his own breakfast. He had ferrying duty in two hours and he still needed to go over his preflight after breakfast.

“Those big robot cats, they’re something else, aren’t they?” the lieutenant remarked.

“They’re something, all right,” said Griffin neutrally. “Bigger, faster, tougher than anything I’ve ever seen.”

“They say it took ten thousand years for them to be found and flown,” said the lieutenant. “You believe that?”

“I can honestly say I don’t know anything about them, sir,” Griffin replied. The lieutenant was fishing for something, some response, some attitude. Griffin hadn’t finished his coffee yet, and so wasn’t particularly interested in _what_.

The lieutenant shrugged. “Makes me think the universe must be in a sorry state, if one dying officer and four failed cadets were so unusual. I mean, imagine what we could’ve done if actual trained personnel, fit personnel, had been flying them.”

“It’s a nice thought, sir,” said Griffin. Did this guy think he was going to take them? Griffin didn’t particularly care about Hunk, Pidge, or Lance, and would happily have dropped Keith into a tar pit, but he did respect Shiro.

“Which one would you fly?” asked the lieutenant. “I mean. If you had the option.”

“Hell if I know, sir,” said Griffin diplomatically, and finished his coffee. “I’ve got too much on my plate for thinking like that.” He stood up. “I’ve got duties, sir. Have a good morning.”

The lieutenant didn’t try to stop him, which was good. It didn’t surprise Griffin much that the brass were looking to replace the paladins. Who _wouldn’t_ want to replace them? And he supposed it made sense to sound out the MFE pilots, who at least had some experience with advanced tech.

But he really did have a pile of work to do, and it was mindless repetitive work but it mattered to the world. Whoever decided who should be flying those Lions, Griffin knew damn well he himself would get no say in it.

~*~

Sincline arrived first, and via wormhole. Scientists on the cruisers spotted it almost at once, sending panicked red-alert messages Earthward until the Black Lion and Red Lion launched skyward to meet it. The Sincline was polite enough to stay still and draw no weapons – not that this really reduced the threat it posed, since it was at least as large as a skyscraper – until the two Lions were in combat range.

“Paladins of Voltron,” came Acxa’s voice. “We are here at the request of Emperor Lotor, to assist you in any way we can.”

“But absolutely especially for hunting down Druids,” Ezor added happily.

“Disassemble, and fly between the two of us,” Shiro replied. “Don’t break formation, and don’t activate weapons systems. Earth’s a bit touchy of visitors right now.”

“Yeah, we heard what you did to Sendak,” said Zethrid. “Sorry we missed the fight. Lo – I mean, the Emperor had us cleaning up Sendak’s mess in our part of the universe.”

It was _not_ an honor guard that came to greet the three Sincline ships as they landed. It was every possible soldier in the Garrison, weapons in hand and only barely being polite about it. On a private band to the Black Lion, Acxa asked, “Should we not have come?”

“Earth’s touchy,” Shiro repeated. “We’ll get it sorted out.”

As the ships landed and powered down, the Black Lion roared _pointedly_ at the humans pointing weapons. Most had the courage not to just _bolt_, but they did take the hint that maybe they should sheathe weapons. As they did, the Black Lion straightened up again.

The Red Lion bowed its head, allowing Keith out as the three generals did the same.

“Isn’t Shiro coming out?” asked Ezor.

“He’s not in Black,” said Keith. “He was injured; he piloted Black remotely.” He nodded to Iverson and Adam, who were striding toward the galra purposefully, and therefore missed the shock on the three generals’ faces that the Black Lion was _empty_. “Those two are in charge of this installation.”

Acxa, predictably, recovered first. She faced Iverson and Adam and solemnly saluted. “I am Acxa, a general of the personal guard of Lotor, Emperor of the Galra. With me are generals Zethrid and Ezor.”

This set the two Garrison officers back a bit. For one thing, Ezor didn’t look like a galra any more than Keith. For another, “...Are you here about Sendak?” asked Adam warily.

“They are _here_,” said Keith in the flat tone that said he could see stupid on the horizon and was totally prepared to stab it as often as necessary, “to help. Sendak didn’t represent the Empire – if anything he was a criminal on the run from it.”

Iverson gave the three generals, and Keith, a rather dour look. “So we’re...what? Space Australia now?”

All three generals gave Keith a blank, _please translate_ look, that only intensified when Keith nodded. “Yeah,” Keith decided. “That’s about right. If you’re putting humanity in the aboriginal role and the galra as the British Empire. Except that Sendak wasn’t _sent_ here; he _fled_ here.”

Both Garrison officers winced. Keith let them adjust while he explained the metaphor for the generals.

Zethrid’s takeaway was, “I think I wanna see this Australia.” When Acxa became Disapproving, Zethrid sighed and added, “I mean, after we’re done cleaning up Haggar’s mess.”

Adam said, slowly, “I think...we should include Shiro in these discussions.”

Keith turned his attention to the Black Lion, eyes unfocusing. “Yeah, he’s good with that. We’re not done with renegades from the Empire yet….sirs.” The honorific was stumbling and hesitant; the habit of the paladin conflicting with the ingrained strictures of the former cadet. “You’ll be glad these three came along soon.”

“Speaking of,” said Ezor, and pulled out a case. She held it out to Keith. “This is for you, from Kolivan. He said you’d earned it. And you’re to train us to use ours, so we can help in the hunt.”

Keith accepted the case carefully, with Adam and Iverson both watching interestedly. He opened it to find a dagger. It wasn’t like his mother’s, but it was a luxite blade. It had been fashioned in the manner of a rondel dagger, with the cylindrical hilt shaped to fit Keith’s hand perfectly. The tip was needle-fine and the edges incredibly sharp. He lifted it from its case and found it was sized for him specifically, complementing his reach, and was balanced for throwing.

“Kolivan said that your kill of Sendak was indicative of your preference,” said Acxa. “The blademaster forged accordingly. You are no longer only a legacy, but a senior Blade in your own right.”

Keith said nothing, but focused on the blade. It was highly responsive to his will – much moreso than his mother’s blade. This one had been made just for him. It extended into a sword with the barest whisper of his will, though at first he didn’t think its essential shape changed much. Long, narrow blade with a sharp tip; Keith had at one point taken a decided interest in pretty much anything with an edge, and recognized it as a Chinese _jian_ sword. Sized for his smaller height, meant to let him take full advantage of his greater speed and agility, Keith gave it an experimental swing and was pretty sure this delicate-seeming blade would cut through galra armor like butter if used properly. The balance here, too, was perfect. He could throw this one like a spear if he had to.

It was nothing like his mother’s Blade, and ...he’d miss that, honestly. But she deserved to have it back. Keith nodded approvingly, let the Blade become a dagger once again, and buckled the sheath at the small of his back, where his mother’s Blade had been.

“I’m guessing that was important,” drawled Iverson. “Y’mind if we go talk to Shiro now?”

~*~

Pidge had lost track of hours and days ...well, quite some time ago. There was too much to do, and it was all indoors, where the lighting and temperature were controlled constants.

She _did_ notice that her _assistants_ sometimes fell over, or walked out for a while, but that was about all. Every flat, monochrome surface now was covered in scribbled equations and diagrams. Every flat _horizontal_ surface was covered in wires and clamps and general parts.

The new communications console was coming together. _Slowly_, because Pidge kept having to deal with much older men who didn’t like being told they’d wasted forty years of their careers by a twentysomething girl, especially when she could prove it without trying hard, but it _was_ all coming together.

One table had Shiro’s prosthetic arm on it. She’d promised to fix it and she _would_, but ...in all fairness she kind of wanted Hunk around to help with it. It wasn’t that she _couldn’t_ fix it – it was that, if she worked with Hunk, the results would be a lot better with no need to backtrack later.

Now and then, she heard a Lion roar outside. When she did, she’d put her helmet on for a while just in case she needed to drop what she was doing and go help the others. So she did _hear_ when Keith told everyone that Lotor’s generals were dropping in. It just wasn’t particularly relevant to her own work and so she let it happen without comment.

They didn’t come in to visit, and so she quickly lost track of time again. Her parents were on the other end of this project. Her _brother_ was on the other end of this project. If she had to personally drag Earth’s best and brightest into a basic understanding of Altean and Olkari communications systems, well, she’d do that. She didn’t bother keeping track of their names. They could keep up or get gone.

So it was with some surprise that Pidge realized she’d spent ...well, she wasn’t sure how long, but probably at least an hour – issuing instructions that weren’t misunderstood, weren’t argued with, but simply _followed_. Correctly.

Her first instinct was to look at her progress thus far – about eighty percent done. So maybe she’d finished the hard-to-understand parts? Was that it?

For the first time in probably days, Pidge looked away from her work and actually devoted attention to her other surroundings.

Matt grinned at her, handed her the part she’d been asking for, and then pulled her in for a surprised, delighted hug.

“Matt! When did you get here?”

“A few vargas ago,” said Matt. “I came with help for you. Keith said you were having trouble, and wow was he right.”

Matt stepped aside to show Pidge _why_ progress had suddenly gotten faster and more efficient. There were a solid dozen Olkari engineers working away. Some of them had taken over the ‘explain this to the Earth physicists’ part, even, though they were clearly confused how any intelligent race could be this stupid.

Pidge hugged her brother gratefully. “I have no idea what month it is, but today is officially christmas,” she said. “_How_? And – Mom and Dad? Are they all right?”

“I brought them along,” said Matt. “They’re on the castleship with Allura, for safety. Still tucked in their pods. We brought down a few so Shiro could heal up, too. We finished cleaning up most of Sendak’s mess – the warlords that are left will take time to root out, but Lotor agreed that taking Haggar off the board was more important. So there’s a balmera in the asteroid belt, a dozen alchemists, a few dozen Blades, and these guys.”

Pidge gave the Olkari a wave, smiling when they waved back.

“Ryner said it would be an honor for the Olkari to assist the Green Paladin,” said Matt, a touch smugly. “But these were all she could spare. There’s no shortage of projects in the Coalition and the Empire, and the Olkari engineers are the best.”

“You’re kidding,” said Pidge. “This is _great_. I’ve been going nuts trying to get everyone up to speed and get this...” She paused. “I guess it’s not a priority now, is it? I mean with the castleship here, and a balmera, we’ve got solid communications with pretty much everyone.”

“We can still finish it,” said Matt. “Or something else, if you’d rather. Keith said you had a list.”

Pidge blinked. Again with _Keith said_. But then, if Matt _had_ brought a medical pod, then Shiro wasn’t available. Oh well. Shiro’s medical pod was probably the weirdest office decoration anyone on Earth had ever seen – Pidge couldn’t figure Keith would be remotely cool with any kind of leadership if Shiro were out of his sight.

But. _That said_...her eyes fell on the broken cybernetic arm. “I’ll leave the console in the Olkari’s hands for now,” she said. “I’ll work on Shiro’s arm, so it’s ready when he gets out.”

Matt nodded. “I’d offer to help, but I’m told Lance is having a pretty awful time right now. So I’m going to head over to where he’s at and catch up.”

Pidge deflated a bit there; she’d hoped he’d stay a while. But he had a point. And really, a dozen engineers – _real_ ones – was a pretty good gift. “Um. Sure. I guess I’ve got attention to spare, so when you’ve got a rundown fill me in?”

“Sure,” Matt nodded. “Allura’s coming with me. Apparently it’s a magic thing, so she wants to see it personally.”

Pidge made a face. “Of course it is. Of course she does. In that case, I’m going to go sit on Keith. While I’m working on this arm, I’ve probably got plenty of leverage to beat sense into him if it turns out he needs it.”

Matt just grinned. “I have _missed_ you, little sister. See you soon.”


	15. This Is How We Rise Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know. This took far, far too long. I hope y'all can forgive.

Keith led the three generals – and the two human commanders – back to the infirmary, feeling unusually weird.

On Earth, but in Paladin armor. Humans and galra in the group. Garrison and Blades. No matter how Keith mentally sliced it, he had a very personal stake in _every_ side. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that. He was much more used to having no stake, or very little.

Thankfully, Shiro understood that this meeting was important, even historic – the first meeting of humans and aliens in an official, peaceful manner. He was sitting up in bed, as presentable as he could reasonably be with only a few minutes and such help as had been standing in the infirmary to get ready. And he had his charm turned to maximum. “Acxa,” he greeted pleasantly. “Ezor, Zethrid. Good to see you.”

While the three generals all looked a bit surprised at the friendly greeting, Keith understood it was really meant to emphasize to Adam and Iverson that these three weren’t enemies. Keith moved to stand at Shiro’s right hand, but didn’t hold any kind of formal posture.

Steve, sitting nearby with a book, watched with curious, silent interest.

“So you do know these women,” said Iverson. “What about their Emperor?”

“Lotor,” Shiro nodded. “Some. But this is probably edging toward politics. Earth isn’t alone in the universe anymore, gentlemen. Humanity needs to make some choices.”

“The Emperor sent us to assist in removing the threat Haggar poses,” Acxa repeated. “And to offer this planet honored membership in the Empire.”

“What you couldn’t take by force, you’ll take by treaty?” asked Adam.

His attention was on the generals, and thus entirely missed Steve’s eyebrows rising. He quietly put a bookmark in his book and gave the conversation his full attention.

“Sendak didn’t represent Lotor,” said Keith, with gritted patience. “Sendak would’ve killed Lotor if he’d been able. And if Sendak had won here, he would’ve used Earth’s people and resources _against_ Lotor.”

“You’re gonna have to forgive us if one galra warlord looks kinda like another right now,” grumbled Iverson. “I’m pretty sure there isn’t a leader that’d agree to joining. It’s too convenient, you three turning up _after_ Sendak and his men are dead.”

“Lotor trusts these three women more than pretty much anyone else in his service,” interjected Shiro, trying to calm things down, because Ezor’s grin was developing a knife edge. “And Sendak came here but he _did_ have bases on several worlds within Lotor’s boundaries. They’ve been cleaning that mess up. And no, you _don’t_ have to join the Empire. Princess Allura represents the Voltron Coalition. Earth is more than welcome there as well.”

“She will be arriving soon,” Acxa nodded, solemn and – at least on the surface – unaffected by the officers’ mistrust. “She is gathering your requests.” To Iverson, she added, “And the Emperor understands your reluctance. It has been his goal to reform the Empire’s stance toward member worlds, but you are hardly the only species to have difficulty understanding the galra.”

“And...you’re _all_ galra?” asked Adam. “I mean...you’re very...different?”

Keith made a face. “They’re all _part-_galra,” he clarified. “Like me. Ezor’s probably the most like me; she favors her non-galra heritage. Lotor’s a part-galra too. That was supposed to keep him from becoming Emperor, but he proved otherwise.”

“Awww,” sighed Ezor. “You’re taking the fun out of watching their little treadwheels spin.”

“Take it as another sign that Lotor isn’t like Sendak,” said Shiro, before the officers could snark back. “He’s not as interested in racial purity or keeping things locked to galra alone.”

“Like the cruisers,” said Adam, nodding. “All the locks are gene-coded.”

“Exactly,” Shiro agreed.

“We can save the anthropology study for another time,” grumbled Iverson. “The fact is we’ve got three _military_, alien generals _with their warships_ on our front lawn. Which means in about two hours we’re also gonna have a _war_. Again. On our _lawn_.”

Shiro looked toward Keith, and Keith felt the Black Lion’s connection. _They’re going to need time. Humanity’s been on the way to unification for years, but we’re not there yet. _

_If they don’t pick SOMEONE to speak for Earth, Haggar will divide it beyond any help,_ Keith pointed out. _Time to stop dragging their feet and just DO it._

_Agreed,_ mused Shiro. _But we do still need at least a few days while someone’s chosen. Any ideas?_

Keith nodded slightly and turned his attention to the group. “Then we can change the scenario,” he said. “There’s a lot of missing people. We didn’t find them on the cruisers – no prisoners, no bodies. But they’ve got to be _somewhere_.” Focusing on the three generals, he said, “I know you’re here to hunt druids, and we’ll absolutely get to that. But right now, you’ve got three very fast ships. Lotor probably wouldn’t mind a few charts of this part of space. Would you be willing to go scouting? See if there’s a system in range of a quick cruiser jump or two where Sendak might have hidden captives?”

Acxa considered, and nodded approvingly. “And finding and returning such captives here would serve as proof of our good intentions,” she said. “We’ll need a working cruiser to transport them, however. Our ships are fast, but they do not have significant cargo space.”

Shiro smiled. “But you _could_ carry supplies,” he said. “If you find them, return here and we can box up supplies to keep the captives alive and well until we can get a cruiser in shape to bring them home. In the meantime, we’ll see if the leaders of Earth can’t sort out how they want to be represented to the rest of the universe.”

“I hope we can at least _sleep_ here,” said Ezor, a bit sourly. “We got a wormhole from Allura to come all this way. Sleeping in our ships would be a pain.”

“We’ll take care of it,” said Keith, before anyone else could respond. “Thank you.”

Acxa bowed, which meant Ezor and Zethrid at least tried to bow, and the three headed back out to their ships. Adam and Iverson blew out long, relieved breaths as soon as they were out of sight.

“Well. _This_ is gonna be a nightmare,” Iverson grumbled.

“No kidding,” Adam agreed. “Especially with Ryou gone. They might have agreed to let Ryou speak for Earth.”

“Clear out a house for the generals,” said Keith. “They’ll be fine if they have a place of their own. Bonus if it’s out of the way.”

“We have actually got bigger problems than your friends’ sleeping habits,” growled Iverson. “We aren’t _ready_ for this kind of negotiation. It could divide the planet.”

“You don’t get to send everyone away until you’re comfortable talking,” Keith replied flatly. “Now is when the decisions have to be made. Grab _somebody_ willing to actually make them. The Sincline ships are fast. They’ll have scouted every system in a hundred light years by the end of the week and probably find our lost captives before then. I’ve bought you a _little_ time. Not a lot.”

“Why _don’t_ we?” asked Adam. “Tell them to just come back when we’re ready?”

Shiro sighed. “Consider our own history,” he suggested. “The scattered European tribes when Roman legions found them. The natives of this land when European settlers found them. Over and over – scattered, less advanced groups get annihilated or assimilated when an organized, more advanced group makes contact. And one of the reasons that happens is, renegades from the more advanced group take advantage of the divisions and inability to defend against superior military might to carve out little kingdoms for themselves. If you don’t get _someone_ willing to stand for all of Earth, and soon, Sendak won’t be the last warlord looking to make a name by conquering this planet. He’ll just have been ahead of the curve. Without allies, Earth _can’t _fend them off.”

“But we have _you_,” Adam pointed out. “You ‘paladins’. Voltron. Are you telling me Voltron wouldn’t defend Earth?”

“I’m saying Voltron defends the entire _universe_,” said Shiro gently. “And it _can’t_ just station itself here. We’ve been fighting this war for _years_, Adam. Earth is just one battle. Voltron’s needed in a lot of places. And it is not, and never will be, Earth’s property alone.”

“And you don’t want it to be,” Keith added. “Because if it ever gets said that the way to draw out Voltron is to take potshots at Earth, you can give up reconstruction ideas right now. We probably _would_ come back to help you, but we can’t guarantee that we could keep a warlord from enslaving this world while we’re doing other things that also need to be done. Sendak thought the way to pull Voltron into battle was to come here. And now he’s dead. But if Voltron stays too long, other warlords _will_ get the same idea. And we might be out of range when they do.”

“Sometime, I think I want to see this Voltron,” grumbled Iverson. “We beat Sendak without it.”

“No, you didn’t,” said Shiro in a calm, and very firm tone. “The Lions _are_ Voltron. One form of it. I won’t deny humanity did better defending itself than any other world we’ve worked with – but you didn’t win that battle alone, and it wouldn’t be a good idea to pretend you did.”

But Iverson was waving a hand in an ‘oh, just shut it’ gesture. “That’s enough. If Earth needs a representative, we’ll get that ball rolling. How long d’you figure before the _next_ galactic superpower knocks on our door?”

“Could be tomorrow,” shrugged Keith. “But the Coalition will be patient because Allura’s coming as a favor to us, not you.”

“How welcoming,” said Adam dryly. “No, no. Don’t defend her. This is just a lot to take in. And it seems we’ve got a _lot_ to get done, and get done _today_. Try not to start any wars while we’re out?” He tugged on Iverson’s arm, to get him to leave with him.

Shiro waited until they were _also_ out of range, before sagging back against the pillows. “This is what I was afraid of,” he told Keith. “Earth _did_ more or less defend itself. But they were also only up against the last remnants of _one_ warlord’s fleet. They haven’t got a clue what kind of scale we’re talking about.”

Keith nodded, slowly, and then turned in surprise when Steve spoke. “Things change. Pretty much the only universal constant. What happens if Earth doesn’t change fast enough?”

The two paladins were both quiet – internally, as well as externally – as they thought over that question.

“If Earth demands to be left alone,” Keith ventured, “Both Lotor and Allura would agree to do that. But that really just means the _law-abiding_ members of both groups avoid Earth, and they were never the problem or the risk. The galra empire is huge even with all the territory Lotor’s ceded to the coalition, and he’s proven his strength but there’s always idiots who think if they can’t run the show they’ll carve out a new empire on the frontier – which this part of space is. They won’t get a quick wormhole here, so they’d be traveling a few years. But that’s all the time Earth could reasonably expect. More warlords _would_ come. And frankly, without some kind of treaty with the empire, Lotor’d have fewer headaches to just ….let them do that.”

Shiro nodded. “It’s not much better on the coalition side. Most of the coalition worlds have been fighting for years – even centuries – against the galra. Sometimes openly, mostly covertly as occupied worlds. And they’ve endured the punishments Zarkon would order to quash rebellions. The coalition’s bound together by mutual need and the kind of goodwill you get when you’re exhausted from fighting. If Earth says to leave it alone, they’ll be more than happy to listen to you. They’re tired, they’ve got their own rebuilding to do. Which means if some enterprising ‘entrepreneurs’ - by which I mean ‘pirates’ - decide to come out here and raid Earth for whatever useful resources they can grab, nobody’s going to stop them. Depending on the circumstances, such pirates might actually be praised in their home systems. They’ve got their own homeworlds to worry about.”

“And between Earth and all that,” said Steve slowly, “Is you five?”

Both paladins shrugged.

“Voltron is pretty much how we got to this point,” said Shiro. “It was a lot worse when we started, believe it or not. But that works in Earth’s favor, because most of the paladins are human and all of the coalition and at least half the empire _owes_ us. We’ve saved their planets, their people, over and over. So if Earth chooses a group to join? You’ll get in even though Earth is far away from everyone else. You’ll be protected, you’ll have trading partners to catch up technologically. Earth still changes. But at least it remains free.”

Steve leaned back in his chair, studying the ceiling of the infirmary. “...Hard sell,” he said. “Dunno about these other species you’ve been dealing with, but humanity, taken as a whole, doesn’t go a bundle on gratitude. And won’t expect any from other people.”

~*~

“So that’s the human homeworld,” mused Ezor, as the Sincline ships broke atmosphere. “Kinda weird, really.”

“Why do they bunch up like that?” asked Zethrid. “All scrunched tight around the shorelines. I didn’t think humans were amphibious.”

“We’ll get to ask questions soon,” Acxa promised. “For now, it seems we need to earn their trust.” She called up a rough star chart comprised of the basic navigational scans the ships had taken coming out of the wormhole. Then started a more comprehensive scan. “The Imperial maps of this region are very incomplete.”

Ezor leaned back in her cockpit, studying the stars they could see. “All new territory,” she mused. “I wonder if Lotor wants to build anything out here. You know, keep an eye on the humans.”

“What _for_?” grumbled Zethrid. “Did you _see_ their tech? It’s amazing the paladins can fly their lions.”

“If the paladins are any indication, humans learn quickly,” said Acxa, bouncing completed scans to the other two. “Now that they know what’s out there, it should be interesting to see what happens to them.” Keytaps highlighted groups of stars. “Zethrid, you take this group. Ezor, that one. Twelve vargas, then meet back here. Call out if you find any prisoners.”

“Sure,” sighed Ezor, as her ship wheeled, streaking off to start searching. It didn’t affect comms at all. “Maybe if humans have a civilization collapse, Lotor will let us take a few as pets.”

“They’re short and squishy,” grumbled Zethrid. “No point in having any for pets.” Her ship, too, wheeled and streaked away.

Acxa sighed, and pointedly did not join the discussion. Lotor wanted humanity as allies, or at least not enemies, but she suspected that the window for the first option had already closed. They’d have to be quick to make up for that. Or heroic.

~*~

Half the Garrison mobilized – again – when Former Admiral Sanda turned up at the perimeter gate.

She was half-starved, scarred, and the clothes she had on were muddy, ripped versions of the ones she’d worn in her cell. And none of this seemed to slow her down.

“We are betrayed!” she said, to anyone who would listen – and a lot who weren’t inclined to. “This is all set up by those five _delinquents_ and _traitors_ to make us prey for the aliens that are coming to claim us! You have to listen!”

In all honesty, the MPs weren’t inclined to. They’d heard a variation of this before, when they’d first had to put Sanda in a cell. They were much more interested in how Sanda had gotten from said cell to the outside desert long enough to get so bedraggled, before coming right back at the gate. But the reporters, all waiting for chances to interview paladins, or Garrison superiors, or MFE pilots – whoever they could steal five mintues from, honestly – why, they were _happy_ to lend the former admiral their full attention.

The MPs had a job to do. Sanda was supposed to be in a cell. She wasn’t. This seemed straightforward enough, so they tried to get her into a car to take back to said cell. It had the unfortunate side effect of making sure the reporters stayed far enough back that _all_ of them could hear Sanda’s warnings.

“You have to believe me! This whole war was a trick! The lion pilots are in the pockets of the galra! How many more citizens of Earth do we have to lose!”

The only Paladin free to move, to hear the commotion, was Keith. He got near enough to pick up ‘galra’ and ‘traitors’ and knew this was not going to be something he could talk his way out of.

Unfortunately, wearing bright red and white armor meant he was also pretty damn easy to spot. He had just enough time to realize this, and send a panicked _Shiro!_ Across the black lion bond, before the swarm of Deeply Interested Reporters closed in.

~*~

Lance had a chair in the ward that was now where his family were kept. It was a good chair – one of those heavily cushioned, reclining deals that you could sleep in if you had to, and lately he’d had to. He wasn’t going to leave them. Allura was coming; she’d promised. She was coming and bringing every alchemist she could grab with her. They’d figure it out.

They’d figure out why none of his family were waking up the way Keith had. Oh, they roused, now and then – but they screamed and tried to cower and hide, and they didn’t stop. It was just one unending terrorfest, until the doctors came and sedated them. Not even halfway sedated, either. The doctors had tried that, but if the patients were awake at all, the fear reactions were obvious and unending.

Brain scans were taken. And then more scans after Hunk got done tinkering with the scanner. The only thing that seemed to match what had happened to Keith was the little switch that distinguished being awake from dreaming had been broken. Haggar had wanted to _interrogate_ Keith – get him to tell her about Oriande, apparently.

She hadn’t had any questions for Lance’s family, or Hunk’s. She hadn’t cared if their minds snapped like brittle twigs.

The only kind thing Lance could do for his family right now was order Veronica to stay at her post at the Garrison, and then call Iverson to make sure she didn’t sneak out. She didn’t need to see this. Especially not right now, when they didn’t have any kind of real solution.

Lance wasn’t going to leave them, though. So he stayed, in his chair. Slept in his chair. He did leave for about half an hour every day to shower, but that was all. He sat by their beds, and told them stories of places he’d been and things he’d seen, and held their hands, and if there was despair that they were ever going to wake up sane, well. He was a paladin twice over and good at pasting a smile over fear.

After a while he got bored enough to demand the doctors explain what they were doing, though. And use smaller and smaller words until he understood it, too.

At first, it was chemical analyses – trying to figure out what was happening to them. Then Keith had done his little flashy thing with the Marmora knife, and the doctors got sidetracked trying to identify the black stuff that had seeped from the wounds. And that was still going on, but the doctors were now working on suppressing the fear chemicals so that maybe someone might wake up in a state calm enough to say what was happening.

The doctors did not like having to stop what they were doing to explain things to a guy who _technically_ hadn’t made it out of high school, however, so someone was hired on whose job was explicitly to take everyone’s research and then explain it to Lance. His name was apparently Percy. He seemed to be about Lance’s age, but had spent a lot more time in school.

“Okay, so. They got the black stuff,” Percy said, over lunch. “And they’re still going a bit nuts about that, because there’s a lot about it that nobody’s ever seen before. DNA, but a triple helix, and done in metallic compounds rather than amino acids. Basically living metal. Or at least, once-living metal. Your friend killed it, as far as anyone can tell.”

“He’s good at that,” was Lance’s _keep talking_ reply.

Percy nodded. “Anyway. Another thing they’re going nuts about is, human bodies should be _totally incompatible_ with the black stuff. Like walking around with half a pound of cyanide in your system. Shouldn’t be possible. But clearly, it didn’t kill anyone.”

“Just made them crazy,” said Lance sourly.

“Maaaybe?” Percy hazarded, waggling half a ham sandwich. “They’re still working on that. See, some of the doctors have a theory that the black stuff wasn’t what did this – that maybe it was just a _conduit_ for what did it. Like...we have metal needles, right, but we inject organic material through it. And maybe the black stuff was just a really sophisticated delivery system for whatever _really_ did this.”

“Kiinda not seeing how that helps,” said Lance. “What changes, either way?”

“Well, it means that they should stop looking for more black stuff and focus on the internal chemical changes your family’s going through,” said Percy. “Which some of them are doing. If we can depress the adrenaline and fear reaction enough they might wake up calm enough to explain what’s freaking them out, at least. If it’s anything environmental.”

“Keith said Haggar made him see alternate realities, where everyone died,” said Lance. “Nothing to fight for or defend or hope for.”

“Yeah, but he also said she wanted to ask him questions,” Percy pointed out. “So that’s a good reaction to aim for, because it takes away any reason not to answer, right? She didn’t want to ask these people anything. So, what _did_ she want?”

“Probably exactly this,” Lance sighed, trying not to look at the muscles on his mother’s face, tense and tight even in drugged sleep. “She had to know I can’t leave them like this. Blue Lion’s grounded, and so’s Yellow, while we figure this out.”

Percy just nodded. “Exactly. So. She was aiming to do the kind of damage that makes people worry, and be afraid, and want to stay nearby. Yeah? But. She can’t know that much about humans.”

“You’d be surprised,” said Lance darkly, trying not to think of the clone ship right now. “She’s had human prisoners. She’s had time to study and do shit you don’t even want to _think_ about. Trust me. She knows about humans.”

“Chemically,” Percy conceded. “But nothing long term, right? Does she have a reason to know what humans can do in five years? Ten? Twenty?”

“Probably not more than five?” Lance conceded, puzzled. “But whatever she’s got going right now probably will come out in less time than that. She doesn’t need to think long term.”

“No, but you do,” said Percy. “What I’m saying is – it doesn’t look like your Haggar had the means to know what would break a human mind _beyond repair_. It’ll take a while, yeah, but we _will_ heal your family. And Hunk’s. We _have_ twenty years, if that’s what it takes.”

Lance’s eyes filled with tears at the thought of his mother, father, grandmother, brothers, and sisters all spending twenty years on narrow hospital beds, sleeping their lives away or staring in heavily medicated calm at the walls.

Just because they were related to him.

Percy reached out to pat Lance’s hand. “They didn’t ask for this,” he said. “But all of Earth will work to help them. We’ll heal them, Lance. We’re out of our depth right now, but you wouldn’t believe how fast everyone’s been working. I’ve been watching the doctors and reading everything, so I can tell you. It might be something completely new to the whole human race on Monday, but by Friday there’s thirty different ideas on how to deal with it and five of them already in testing. The best medical minds on the planet are doing round the clock shifts to understand what happened, how it happened, and how to undo it. Neuroscience and about five or six other fields are breaking new ground _every day_ on this. Nobody’s taking tea breaks or anything here. Nobody’s dragging their feet. We _will_ help your family. And if you’ve got people coming in that know anything about this stuff, it’ll just make the work go even faster.”

Lance brushed away the tears with the back of his hand. How pathetic, that he had to be cheered up by a med school student. All those battles, parades, meetings. Come home and he was just the same cadet inside he’d always been, and his parents in drugged unconsciousness on a nearby bed. Who was the paladin here, after all?

“If...if I have to leave for a bit,” said Lance slowly, “you’ll keep up with that right? Contact me immediately if anything changes? Keep me updated on all the new things being learned and stuff?”

Percy grinned. “You kidding? This is the best internship of my life, man. It’s even _paid_. I will do all that _and_ get you coffee if you want. That’s basically what they brought me here to do – be the liaison with you. A lot of doctors get a D in bedside manner at the best of times.”

Lance nodded, slowly. “One more question,” he said. “How much of what Hunk’s been doing the past few days is stuff that actually helps, as opposed to stuff the doctors are letting him do because it keeps him busy and out of their hair?”

~*~

Hunk wasn’t, for the moment, Fixing anything.

He was learning that if he fixed _everything_, then when the nervous need to Do Something Useful hit, he’d just twitch and get snappy at people. Baking was, for once, not a help – it didn’t keep the doctors and scientists focused, if anything it _distracted_ them. So Hunk was learning to pace himself. When the scientists came with a question of how to better study something, Hunk threw himself at it, aiming for a thorough rather than immediate solution. The same was true when the doctors had a request.

This lone building had probably revolutionized medical science at least four times in the past week. So far. Or at least it would, when the work Hunk had done got out.

But his family, and all his childhood friends, were still kept sedated in narrow little bunks, and spending too long thinking about that, and about how he couldn’t seem to find answers for it, was going to drive him crazy.

It was in that agitated state where he needed something to Do, and there wasn’t a job available, that Hunk came across the file.

All the paladins had gotten one, even Shiro. Farewell letters from Ryou. As far as Hunk knew, no one had opened them. Nobody really wanted to say _goodbye_ to Ryou, even though he’d died before they arrived on Earth and thus, as it were, the goodbyes were kind of a given. It was different to deal with last words, last requests. Nobody, to Hunk’s knowledge, had the time or freedom from other problems to cope with the weight of a fellow paladin’s death. They’d tried that with Shiro, and ...yeah.

But Hunk – for the moment, at least – didn’t have anything else to occupy himself. And maybe...maybe if he could cope with something that had already happened, and was beyond any hope of Fixing, maybe that would free up some space inside him to deal with the things happening right now.

And hey. Who knew. Maybe Ryou had seen it coming. He _had_ been kind of fixated on Haggar.

Hunk made himself some cocoa, and found a quiet corner to open up the file, putting on his helmet so it wouldn’t broadcast to the whole room.

~*~

The file was a video.

Ryou was seated at a desk in the Garrison – Hunk didn’t know where, exactly, but he knew Garrison style. He was wearing an admiral’s uniform, and he did not look well. Withered, really. Thinner than he ought to be, by kind of a lot.

“Hello, Hunk,” said Ryou. “I’m glad you chose to open the file. I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure anyone would. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it until you and the others got back here, but maybe that’s for the best. This body is breaking down, and if the invasion happened tomorrow, I’d be a distraction and a hindrance. So don’t take my regret as missing the fight – I just wish I’d been able to say all this in person.

“We never really talked.” Ryou looked down at his hands, mechanical and flesh intertwined. “I think I understand why. It had nothing to do with you as a person. I think Haggar knew that if you got hold of my arm you’d find all her little surprises. The Olkari took care of that for you, so don’t worry. I’ve left instructions that Takashi is to have it now. Just in case. A spare is never something to turn down, after all.

“I’ve done what I could to prepare Earth for the galra. That includes showing them how galra crystals work, and galra technology. I’m...pretty sure you don’t approve, to be honest, and I understand why. For my part, I hope you understand I have no way of knowing when they’ll get here – or when you will. Or how long Earth will have to hold out without help. I can’t promise the Garrison that Altean ships will be here in time to help. I can only promise them information to turn the galra weapons against them, and hope the damage isn’t too severe when you all arrive.

“I’m aware that you, and Pidge, will have the work of convincing them to let that technology go. And I’m sorry that you’ll have to do that without my voice in the choir. But I’ve got faith you’ll figure out a way to teach them the dangers of druid-corrupted quintessence.”

Ryou looked a little troubled. “Not to be too metaphysical, but I’m not entirely sure I have a soul. I’ve had trouble trying to connect to Black even at the best of times. I’ve never had a vision. And I wasn’t born, I was grown in a vat by a creature that probably wouldn’t know what a soul was if it bit her. So I can’t say I’ll join Black when I’m gone. But I do have Takashi’s memories, even if I have to work at it to access them, and meditating’s all I’ve had the energy for the past few days. Meditating, and thinking.

“Earth will have no leader, when I’m gone. I pretty much had to browbeat them with the necessity, and even so, my powers were limited to preparing for the crisis. But you and I know Earth’s going to _need_ a leader. A single voice or a parliament or a congress or _something_ that can speak for the whole world. I’m relatively new to this planet, but I can see that this is not a thing they’re going to figure out easily or quickly on their own, and you and I know there may well not be enough time.

“So.” The withered figure leaned forward, staring intently into the camera. “I want you to remember, Hunk. The original paladins were all kings and queens. Not just Zarkon. Alfor _ruled_ Altea. Blaytz ruled Nalquod. Gyrgan ruled Rygnirath. Trigel ruled the Dalterion Belt. They were different from each other in ways much more obvious than you are from the other Paladins, but they ruled their homeworlds and they worked together to build something new.

“That’s what you’re going to have to do, here on Earth. I know you probably don’t want to. Of all the paladins, I had you down as the most likely to be the first to hand off your bayard when the wars are over. But until Earth has a unified voice, you can’t. I’m asking you not to.

“I’m asking you to make yourself the voice of those who love this world the way you do. Who love their families, and their home towns, and their rivers and oceans and food trucks the way you do. Because you know what happens when those people are made afraid, made to feel vulnerable and voiceless. I couldn’t speak for them, but I’ve met them. Because of you I went and tasted all the flavors of Earth I could find. People like you are everywhere, Hunk. They will need you to speak for them. I need you to protect them, one last time. Be their leader, until Earth has found its voice. When that happens, if you still want to hand off your bayard...well, at least you’ll have the comfort of knowing you weren’t the first. When you’ve found Yellow a new paladin, and handed off your bayard, come find me in the cave where Blue waited all those years.”

Ryou smiled. “Maybe leave me some _lu’au_. If I have a ghost it’d probably be hungry. _Tofa soifua, _Hunk.”

The screen went dark.

~*~

Hunk sat there, staring blankly at the wall, for several minutes before he pulled off his helmet and cried. He hadn’t expected to cry. Ryou was right – they’d never really talked, and Hunk hadn’t been expecting ...well, _that_. He’d never have figured Ryou to be curious about where he, Hunk, had come from. What humans were like when not fighting wars in other people’s galaxies.

He _really_ hadn’t expected Ryou’s last request. Lead? Hunk didn’t _lead_. That was a Shiro thing, a Ryou thing. Even a Keith thing, at least sometimes. Hunk just wanted to make food and neat machines.

But that was exactly who Ryou wanted him to speak for. All the people who hadn’t asked for the galra to come beating on Earth’s door, who didn’t want to get thrown into politics of races they’d never heard of, who just wanted to run their food trucks or fix their computers in peace, but who couldn’t go back to that any more than Hunk had been able to, because sometimes Change had no sense of timing.

They were just like he had been, Hunk realized. All over the world. They’d weathered Sendak’s attack and now they thought they could go back to the way things were. They _wanted_ to go back to the way things were. Just like Hunk had _really_ just wanted to go home again, until...until Shay had opened his eyes that some things needed to be taken care of first.

That was what Ryou was asking him to do. Help people understand that this wasn’t something that could be undone. That Earth had a role to play, and the universe needed it to play it.

Hunk wasn’t certain (he had a tidy sort of mind, and a very precise ranking system) but it was possible he’d never been more terrified of any prospect in his life.

The door opened and Lance came in. He looked different. Like he’d worked something out. But it quickly shifted to concern. “Hey. You okay?”

Hunk wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

“We’ve got stuff we need to do,” said Lance. “I hate to ask you to leave them – you know I do, but -”

“We’ve got a job to do,” said Hunk, standing up. “Yeah. I know.”


	16. Catching up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's see...
> 
> I think mainly I should be promising, here, that Shiro isn't going to be out of it for long, and the idea I'm going for with the Lions is 'flexibility'.

Haggar watched the Garrison leaders on the floor of the General Assembly, through the eyes of one of her pawns.

_Humans_, she thought. _Such promise._

Adam and Iverson were laying out what they understood to be happening, before the assembled delegates that – at least today – represented over ninety percent of the planet’s population. They laid out what had happened, what had been done about it, and what they knew to be coming. They’d had a decently long flight to sort out a fairly good speech between them; a reasonably comprehensive presentation.

It made a tiny, satisfied smile curl Haggar’s lips, as she watched through the eyes of one of her chosen. The smile widened as the votes were taken and tallied.

Earth would stand alone, and would not seek alliance – not with the Empire, and not with the Coalition. And when Princess Allura arrived, the Garrison was instructed to send her to the General Assembly with any formal requests.

_Such promise._

Her new Druids were shaping up surprisingly well, surprisingly quickly. Humans seemed to be near an evolutionary cusp, where they might _become_ any number of things, but hadn’t actually done so yet. Adding quintessence had, rather to Haggar’s surprise, resulted in strong, driven Druids where the sensitivity was enough.

Perhaps one in ten, one in fifteen, were sensitive enough to be made into Druids. The other nine to fourteen, however, could still be inserted into the distillation pods. And there were _so many humans_. She could probably keep farming them for phoebs before anyone even noticed the missing. Or, possibly, humans just didn’t worry about it. It worked to her advantage, either way.

She walked along the row of pods where new Druids were being instructed, stopping at the last. This one was ready. A wave of long fingers activated the controls that started the process of sucking the excess quintessence back into storage tanks, until a naked, human, glistening with quintessence already being absorbed into his skin, hung there. Another wave of her fingers, and the breathing mask disconnected and the tube opened, dropping the man out of the tube and onto the floor at her feet.

Useful, that humans did not show physical changes when exposed to quintessence, the way galra did. Very useful indeed. Her new Druid opened his eyes, and turned his prostrate posture into a deep kneel. “High Priestess,” he croaked.

Haggar looked into his mind and was satisfied with what she saw there. This one was feigning nothing; the programming had taken hold fully. The dark energy was wound throughout his mind and body. He was devoted to the order of Druids now, and to her. “Your uniform has been cleaned,” she informed him. “Return to your post. Your subordinates have been informed that you were called away on a family emergency.”

“Your will, High Priestess,” said the man, rising. Outwardly he seemed no different than when he’d gone in. Quite remarkable, really, but Haggar could sense the greater power now residing in the small human frame.

“Humans have no need of alliance,” Haggar told her Druid, as he reached for his clothes. “The galra have abandoned their technology here and humans can and will learn to use it. And improve upon it. Humans need no balmera crystals. There is life enough right here for all humanity’s needs, now that the door has been opened.”

Her words sank into the man’s mind, and became his own. “Yes, High Priestess,” he said solemnly, but there was a fierce pride behind the phrase now.

She left him to finish dressing – a Garrison uniform, with a lot of decoration. High ranking officer of some sort. He had been brought to her because he was usefully positioned to influence events. As a Druid he would be far more useful than as a thrall, but that had been mere good fortune.

Humans were _full_ of potential. Clearly, the Champion had been utterly wasted in the Arena. He would have been far more use as a Druid, but at the time, she had not seen enough of the species to know. She had thought the sensitivity threshold had to be much higher.

Now that she did know, she had plans. It was…pleasant, to truly have plans again.

~*~

_It’s all right. I’ve got you._

Keith wasn’t afraid of many things, and his time away from Earth had reduced that number considerably.

But the fear of a human mob – of a bunch of humans all paying attention to _him_, all making demands of him, all _judging_ him – that had haunted his dreams since his first year in foster care, when he had first learned that group attention in any kind of concentration was inevitably very, very bad. And the reporters, all with questions about galra plots and Keith’s own involvement with galra plots, were hitting that lifelong panic button hard.

_I’ve got you,_ Shiro’s voice rang in his mind. _Keith. I’m here. Tell me what they’re saying and I’ll walk you through it._

Keith echoed what he was hearing on autopilot, clinging to Shiro’s presence as a lifeline. _What do you know about the galra plot to prepare earth for colonization? Do you consider yourself a citizen of earth or planet galra? Do you have citizenship here? What are the galra planning to do if earth joins the empire? What are the galra planning to do if earth joins the coalition? What are the galra planning to do –_

_Keith,_ said Shiro, as gently and firmly and reassuringly as he could – because the repeated words had more than a little panic in them. _Breathe. Look at someone’s nose. Just the nose. Focus on breathing. Then repeat what I tell you, okay?_

Shiro waited as his sense of Keith gradually re-centered. He couldn’t exactly hear through Keith’s ears, unfortunately, but he could feel the pressure of the demands the reporters were making on Keith’s equilibrium.

Shiro was _good_ at this kind of mob. He’d had a lot of practice, as reporters seemed to like catching people off guard, in case this resulted in more honest answers. It was a lot like sparring, really, but Keith had never had any training in this kind of confrontation. All he knew with certainty was that he couldn’t shout it away, run away from it, or try to stab it – and that pretty much exhausted his usual set of options. Reasoning with it had been trained out of him as a child; children weren’t supposed to ‘talk back’ or ‘argue’, and that was unfortunately exactly the right response for this kind of event. He’d have to practice it with Keith later. Maybe get Allura to help. It was an absolutely essential leadership skill.

While Keith breathed and got his grip on reality back, Shiro considered the questions. He didn’t trust Sanda, of course, but he knew her well enough. Conservative, in the sense of being risk-averse. These ideas, from Sanda, were a bit worrying. But first he needed to get Keith through this.

_Okay. Okay. Help me make this _stop_, Shiro. Please._

_I will. Got your breath back? Good. Now. Pick whoever’s shouting loudest, look them in the eye, ask them politely to repeat the question. Gesture everyone else to shut up – don’t SAY it. Just wave your hand like a conductor. Ignore everyone else, they’re supposed to be shutting up. You’re in command here, not them. Tell me what the one you pick asks._

This was going to take a while. But Keith was a quick study at any kind of combat. Shiro just had to hold on to him until Keith realized ‘combat’ was what was happening.

~*~

Steve watched Shiro’s eyes close, his breathing become steady and slow. The man had spent rather more time out of his body than in it since Steve had met him, and he wasn’t sure yet if that was weirder than nobody _acting_ like it was weird.

Krolia had been clear, though, that if he wanted to understand what was going on, then keeping Shiro from leaving his bed was the best way to begin. She hadn’t been wrong about that. Steve had seen quite a lot, and it was kind of a shame that very little of it had helped with regard to the decisions he had to make.

The thing was – he _liked_ Keith. What he’d seen of the young man spoke well of him; devotion, dedication, courage. He rather thought his brother would have been proud of how his son had grown up.

But Keith was a half-blood, and his heritage was through his father, and there were some things it just wasn’t in Steve’s power to change, no matter how much he might want to. He just didn’t have the authority to do as Krolia had apparently done, and teach Keith all the things he should have grown up knowing about his father’s people. That would be for clan elders to decide, and quite probably even then only after Keith personally approached them with a request. And it wouldn’t matter that Keith had done incredible things, heroic things. This sort of deal was a separate matter.

It did not make Steve any happier, knowing the galra had treated Keith exactly the same way; that there was ‘his mother’, and there were the traditions of his mother’s people, and that Keith had had to pass dangerous trials to be given knowledge of the latter. It just…well, the universe was not fair, and never had been, but it wasn’t like Keith had _asked_ to be born a halfblood. And Krolia’s work had made clear that Keith being shunted into the white world’s foster care was no fault of his father’s, either. Planning _had_ been done. It had simply been deliberately circumvented, and who could foresee that?

There were a few things Steve could do for Keith, as his uncle, and those he had decided to do – he could give Keith a surname, and his own, and at least tell him where to go and who to see if the day came that he was willing to prove himself to his father’s people. Steve could put Keith’s name on the tribal rolls, and then Keith would be part of his father’s people as much as he might have been had his father lived. He’d know the door was there.

The rest would be entirely up to Keith – what he wanted to know, and when. Given how much Keith had already been through to find a place in the world, Steve wouldn’t blame him for turning away – but he hoped Keith wouldn’t. Maybe _now_ wasn’t the time; maybe right now Keith needed to be with his mother’s people. Earth had a lot of catching up to do, a lot of decisions to make. Decisions Keith had already faced and made, about where to stand, and who to stand beside.

He seemed to have pretty good judgment about that. Steve watched Shiro’s steady breathing, sitting up propped on pillows in his bed. Doing so much, from his bed. With broken ribs and only one arm, yet. There would be many stories about Shiro. Steve was sure of that.

Keith didn’t need family bombshells right now. As well give him such information in the middle of a battle. But if everyone survived…yes.

~*~

Allura brought the ships through the wormhole. Three races, three ships – more for effect than anything else, but first impressions always mattered.

First was the Olkari vessel; modular cubes, configuring and reconfiguring like pixels. Currently it was an elongated, streamlined form for swift flight, but she could see it preparing to form a stable cube for an extended orbital stay.

Next was the first of Lotor’s new imperial cruisers; somewhat more elegant in form, with no visible weaponry (all of it tucked into closable ports), and fueled by untainted quintessence. These were the Blades, come to deal with Haggar. And, if need be, a safe offplanet berth for the Sincline ships.

Last was Allura’s own castleship, with nearly all the altean alchemists aboard.

She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. A welcome, at least. Something. But the skies over Earth were both silent and crowded; little to no comm chatter, but an incredible lot of space debris. And several badly damaged galra cruisers that were clearly being investigated.

Allura’s screen lit up with transmissions from the other ships.

“Have they not been warned that the old cruisers are dangerous to study?” asked the captaining Blade.

“I’d have gone with ‘obsolete’, personally,” chimed the Olkari captain. “They held the day by numbers and pinning the enemy down under artillery fire.”

“Let’s see if the humans have figured out the ‘on’ switch, shall we?” asked Allura brightly, and opened a channel to the damaged cruisers. “Attention, humans. Representatives of the Voltron Coalition and the Galra Empire have come to welcome you to the community of spacefaring species.”

For a little bit there was no answer, and then another screen wobbled to life. “This is captain James Griffin of Ares Flight, Southwest Garrison. You’re a bit late to the party, but we were told to expect you. Not three ships though. What’s your intention?”

Allura blinked. “To provide what assistance we can in removing Druid presence from your system.”

Griffin just looked blank. “Okay,” he said slowly, clearly not understanding what she was talking about. “Are you here for Voltron, or to talk to us locals?”

This was not good. Druids were definitely here. How did the humans not _know_ they were here? But Allura didn’t let her official presence show any confusion. “I would prefer to speak with the paladins first, if that is acceptable.”

Griffin tapped keys. “This is the flight path to Southwest Garrison,” he said. “…Those ships don’t go into atmosphere, do they?”

“Mine will,” said Allura with a smile. “The others have smaller craft. Thank you, captain.”

Griffin’s screen blinked out. The Olkari captain said, “We’ll transfer some crew over to you, Princess, to head down to the planet. Seems they’ve got some problems.”

“If they do not recognize the danger of Druids, they have more than ‘some’,” echoed the masked Blade captain. “We have our own dropship, Princess. The Emperor was insistent that the new cruisers have noncombat transports.”

“We have our coordinates,” Allura nodded. “Let us see the paladin homeworld.”

~*~

The castleship descending, flanked by light purple galra dropships, got the crowd of reporters to leave Keith alone. And for a good five minutes, Keith was content to just let that be the case, so he could catch his breath and mentally sort himself out.

The ships didn’t descend into the Garrison compound – the castleship by itself was much too large to do so without completely taking over the Garrison airfield – but instead took up a lot of space just outside its perimeter. This meant, among other things, that there was nothing particularly stopping the mob of reporters from rushing this ‘first friendly contact’ event but the physical distance they had to cover to get there.

Shiro murmured through their link, _I’d better take Black to make sure things stay friendly. If you’re okay._

_I’m fine now,_ said Keith, relieved. _I’ll go over there on my own two feet. Allura should have SOMEONE she knows around._

But he didn’t rush it. After all, only a moment later, he could see Black’s head rise, as the great Lion bounded off to greet Allura like a very, very large housecat. Admittedly, Keith missed Allura too. Everyone had been stuck in their own little worlds lately, and none of them had been happy ones. Keith was happy to just _walk_ to the castleship, in blessed silence. Reporters were terrifying. Even with Shiro’s help he was glad to have a little bit to calm down.

When the gleaming white hull of the castleship came into view (and it was hard not to think of the thrusters as towers, when it was vertical like that), it felt like _home_. The Black Lion sitting proudly near it only served to accentuate the point, as if it were warning the gaggle of reporters not to get _too_ close. Which maybe it was.

“Hey,” said a familiar voice. “Long time no see, or at least it feels that way.”

Keith turned. Matt grinned at him. “You came, too?”

“Figured I should help Pidge out,” Matt nodded. “Mom and Dad are in medical pods on the castleship. I hear Shiro’s been hurt?”

“Sendak,” Keith agreed. “He’s remote piloting Black. Lance will be glad to see you. You’ve heard what they did?”

Matt paused. “Maybe,” he said. “Fill me in, just to be sure.”

So Keith did, as they closed the distance. The captives, the tanks. The new facility studying it all.

“And Pidge has been stuck in the communications room?” Matt asked when Keith paused.

“Yeah. Apparently Earth’s greatest minds are having trouble keeping up with her.”

“It’s a big club,” said Matt, proudly fond. “Okay. I’ll let you say hi to Allura, then. I’ll go get some engineers to surprise my sister with, and when you and Allura have dragged Shiro into a medical pod I’ll meet you both at this place Lance and Hunk are at. Sound good?”

Keith paused. Honestly, if Shiro was in a medical pod he didn’t really want to leave him. Matt seemed to quickly realize the flaw in the plan. “I mean when Shiro’s in a pod and safely guarded. Right?”

“Yeah,” said Keith. Though he wasn’t sure how keen his mother would be to _keep_ guarding Shiro, and he didn’t really know Steve.

Matt clapped Keith on the shoulder and headed around the gaggle of reporters into the castleship. “See you there, then.”

_You know how I feel about medical pods,_ was Shiro’s thought.

Keith looked up at the Black Lion. Between the Lion and the castleship he really did feel like he’d come _home_, even with the reporters pestering Allura in the background. _I know,_ he answered. _But if you don’t hurry up and get better, I might get _frustrated_ and see what an endorphin rush does for you._

He followed the comment with a few very suggestive and explicit images – intending to tease, and by the jumble of emotions that flooded out of the Lion, he’d done so successfully. Keith smiled a little to himself as he got to witness the mental version of going completely tongue-tied; Shiro had had many hospital visits, but was completely unused to _not_ being treated like an invalid during one. Keith’s smile widened a bit more as that confused presence withdrew; apparently Shiro needed to really think about that option.

Allura, however, was doing only a bit better than Keith had against the reporters. He wasn’t sure they could tell – Allura had a lot of practice in keeping her diplomatic demeanor up – but _he_ could tell. They weren’t asking questions she liked, or was ready for. But they weren’t mobbing her, the way they had him. For one thing, she was flanked by Coran, who could pull off intimidating if you didn’t know him and he wasn’t talking, and for another, the castleship right behind her hit every human instinct toward beauty and elegance.

Keith knew better than to try and help her. She was good at this; he wasn’t. But he could stand by her, and give her confidence that way. So he did, and steadfastly ignored any reporters that tried to ask him more questions. She seemed to at least appreciate the symbolic backing.

Finally, she waved them off, and while initially they seemed disinclined to obey her, Coran and Keith started herding them away until they got the hint – and apparently, the reporters were surprised to find both Coran and Keith were significantly stronger than they looked. Allura waited until they were all heading back to wherever they’d parked their vehicles to lean, relieved, against the hull of the castleship.

“Your species are not what I expected,” she said.

“_Now_ they’re ‘my’ species?” asked Keith. “You missed that bunch mobbing _me_ ten minutes ago. Someone’s been telling people this is all an elaborate galra scheme to trick humans into joining alliances they don’t need.”

Allura and Coran frowned. “Sounds like Haggar,” Coran opined. “That’s just her style.”

“Agreed,” said Allura, reserved. “So she’s already gotten her claws into this planet.”

Keith nodded. “We haven’t seen or heard a peep out of her since before Sendak was killed. But she’s got to be here, somewhere. And nobody really believes us when we warn them because they _haven’t_ seen her. Sendak was something they could at least see the effect of.”

Allura turned to Coran. “Tell them they can come out now. It seems to have calmed down.”

Coran nodded, and simply turned to yell up at the castleship, “YOU CAN COME OUT NOW!”, causing Allura to facepalm.

But then the hatch opened, and a lot of Olkari started coming out, led by Matt. Keith blinked, owl-eyed.

“I brought friends,” Allura smiled. “Blades to help hunt down the Druids. And Olkari, to help Pidge and Hunk. And alchemists, to help their families.”

Indeed, several alteans were also coming out of the ship. And everyone was looking at Keith.

Well. At least this was something he knew how to deal with. “All right,” he said. “Follow me.”

~*~

The first stop for the group was the medical ward, where a few whispered words from Keith convinced Shiro to get into one of the capsules Allura had brought. Krolia and Steve started taking that capsule back to the castleship, where Shiro could heal safely in peace, and some of the olkari stayed behind to explain ‘medical capsule’ to the human doctors. Several more olkari were led by Matt to help Pidge. The rest, and all the alteans, got bundled into Red so Keith could fly everyone to the facility where Lance and Hunk were.

The doctors were more than a little stunned, to meet alteans and olkari. The olkari all but kidnapped Hunk for a rundown of what he’d done so far, and what needed to be done. The alchemists moved among the drugged patients, studying them with worried expressions.

“You brought a lot of cavalry,” said Lance to Allura. “I don’t think we can thank you enough.”

“That’s exactly what this is,” said Allura. “It’s thanks. Though Hunk looks a bit overwhelmed.”

“So am I,” Lance admitted. “We were just talking about – well, all the things we still need to get done, that we needed to leave here. But I have to say I think both of us feel better about the idea knowing our families are getting the best care in the universe.”

Allura smiled. “That was kind of the idea, yes.”

“Things you need to get done,” Keith echoed. “I kind of thought you’d both stay here, until -” He waved a hand that broadly meant _until your families are okay_.

Lance made a face. “We’d like to, honestly, but if there’s one thing we’re both kind of clear on now, it’s that our being here or not being here won’t change anything for them. But we might change things in the rest of the world.” He paused. “Hey – did you guys happen to watch your videos from Ryou?”

Allura blinked. “I got one?”

Keith shook his head. “It’s kind of been...weird.”

“You got one,” Lance nodded. “Probably Adam has it for you. Anyway. Point is, Hunk watched his and he was telling me about it. It kind of looks like Ryou saw a lot of what we’re dealing with now, months ago. I still have to watch mine, but it’s possible he gave _all_ of us jobs. He definitely gave Hunk one. It’s been on his mind since.”

Keith and Allura both looked over to where Hunk was playing cultural and scientific translator for several scientists and three olkari.

“Not that,” said Lance. “He told Hunk that Hunk has to help people come to grips with how things are changing. That it had to be him, because becoming a paladin was the biggest change for him.”

Keith nodded slowly, thinking that out. “Ryou had a point. And a good idea. I think I’ll need to leave the Lions behind for a while once Shiro’s back on his feet.”

Allura looked alarmed. “You _cannot_ be considering leaving the team?”

“That would totally _not_ be anything Ryou would say,” Lance added quickly.

“I didn’t say leave the _team_,” said Keith shortly. “I said leave the _Lions_. I just got a solid taste this morning of what Haggar’s going to use against us. We need to simplify things if we want people to work with us. Allura’s a full alien, and she’s altean. Better to have her with Voltron than me, right now. And I should be with Acxa and the generals – if they _do_ find our lost people, those people have no reason to understand the generals are on their side. If I go with them I can be the intermediary.” He nodded to Lance and Allura. “Lance can take Red, and you can go back in Blue, princess. That makes Voltron something _humans_ can believe in.”

Lance folded his arms across his chest. “Are you seriously telling me you’re gonna let a few jerks decide who’s a paladin?”

Keith’s jaw set. “No, I’m not,” he said. “I’m not leaving the team. But right now we’ve got to convince humanity of a _lot_ of things, and the faster the better. I’m taking one problem off that pile and moving it to the back. We can discuss half-human rights _after_ we get humanity up to speed on ‘good aliens’, ‘bad aliens’, ‘good alien factions’, ‘bad alien factions’, which technology is fine and which will destroy the whole planet in a few decades, that Druids _exist_ and what they do, and why being a Druid isn’t a good idea.”

Allura gave Keith a little sympathetic look. “...Haggar is Altean, Keith.” She said it like she was admitting to a crime.

“I’m willing to bet nobody knows that, though,” said Keith. “Whereas everybody knows Sendak was a galra, and the cruisers that just leveled a lot of cities and kidnapped thousands of people to who knows where, were definitely also galra.”

“We brought many Blades with us as well,” Allura pointed out.

“And they’ve operated in the shadows before, and rescued a lot of people that hated the galra as much as humans currently do before too,” said Keith calmly. “I know. I was there. One more time won’t make much difference to them. From the shadows, they – _we_ – can find the druids. Lance does better in spotlights than I do, anyway.”

“Well. I mean,” said Lance slowly, “I can’t deny I’m a _lot_ better looking than you are. And more charming. And -”

Keith punched him in the stomach. Not _hard_, but enough to get the point across. It made Lance’s laughter come out in a wheezing gasp.

Allura nodded slowly, and put out a hand to steady Lance. “I see. And I have been asked to speak for the Coalition before something called the ‘general assembly’. I will be speaking for Voltron, as well?”

Keith nodded. “You sort that out with Shiro, but basically yeah. We need to make sure people understand Voltron does _not_ belong to Earth, no matter how many pilots are human.”

Lance coughed until he got his voice back. “You really suck at taking a joke,” he said, without heat. “How long is Shiro gonna be out?”

“A day or two at most,” said Allura. “He was on the mend and broken bones are not difficult for the tanks to heal. We should use the time to decide our individual roles. Then we can work with Shiro to coordinate better as a team.”

“I’ll be taking Black out to meet the Sinclines,” said Keith firmly. “I’d have been shredded today if Shiro hadn’t had my back. The generals don’t need more of the same. With Allura in Blue it’ll make clear you’re a paladin too. And you can speak about the dangers of druid-tainted quintessence.”

Allura frowned. “In between managing things here,” she said. “I brought all the alchemists I could.”

“That’s kind of what I’m talking about,” said Keith. “We’re all going to have to do different things, to pull this planet together. Shiro’s best at coordinating.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And handling reporters. I really don’t want to repeat this morning.”

“So what do you figure my job is in this?” asked Lance. “I’m not like everyone else. I don’t _have_ a ‘thing’ unless you need someone shot. Which I hope you don’t.”

“You understand all the facets,” said Allura, before Keith could say anything. “I will need your help, to understand how to convince this world to join the coalition. I will need your help to keep the doctors here unafraid of the alchemists. Hunk will need your support when he tries to convince ...well, anyone of anything, you know he isn’t much of a public speaker. Pidge usually needs someone to keep her from forgetting to eat or sleep. And Shiro cannot possibly juggle this many groups on his own.” She paused. “I rather doubt you will have much time for personal pursuits for a while.”

Lance smiled slightly. “Everyone’s assistant. Right.”

Keith looked exasperated. “Because we do _so well_ when we’re working alone? Can it, Lance. You’re going to be everyone’s assistant because we need the help and you’re the only one that can. Though you might want to recruit people that you can bring up to speed if you want to sleep.”

“Oh yes,” said Allura, in an _I just remembered_ tone. “Matt is on his way, I believe. As soon as he gets Pidge to put down her tools for a moment or two.”

Lance paused, then. Relieved? Happy? It was something quite private, either way. “...Thanks,” he said, in a much softer tone. “I think I could use an hour or two with him.” When he noticed Keith giving him a Look, his expression soured. “Not like that. Just – he gets it. It’s not like any of us have many people we can talk to about...well, _any_ of this. He’ll have ideas.”

“Shall we return to the castleship for now?” asked Allura. “All of us.” She pointedly included Keith. “We can contact the Sincline from there as well.” She paused, then added, “And – Lance? I assure you. If any of my people find _anything_ about what has been done to your family and Hunk’s, they can reach us at the castleship.”

“We’ll wait for Matt,” said Lance. “And then...yeah.”

Keith relaxed. “...I don’t know about you,” he said quietly. “But I will be glad to go home.”


	17. The Hunts Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The paladins Deal With Some Problems.
> 
> Adam and Iverson decide to resolutely....not do that. Kind of.

Adam and Iverson arrived back at the Southwest Garrison jetlagged and dispirited.

The fact that the whole place was in a state of chaos due to the big white ship and smaller purple-blue ships around it parked just outside the perimeter line _really_ didn’t help.

Iverson just stared at it for a while. “….It’s pretty, I’ll give it that,” he grumbled.

It made Adam smile faintly, for just a moment. “I’m sure the owners will be happy to relocate it to the general assembly building,” he said in a dry tone that made clear he didn’t think anything of the kind.

Iverson rubbed the back of his neck, sighed, and stalked down the ramp onto the tarmac. “It’s huge. How many aliens are we dealing with?”

Adam, who’d stayed put to let Iverson disembark first, was higher up and thus got to see more of the surrounding airfield. “...I’m gonna go with ‘a lot’,” he said. He’d just seen a group of half a dozen olkari walking casually between buildings, tools at the ready.

“Huh?” asked Iverson, and then followed Adam’s pointing hand. “Aw…._fuck_,” he sighed. “This is not gonna make _anything_ better.”

“Better to go to the source first,” said Adam. “The white ship’s probably it.” He started down the ramp. “Best come on,” he said tiredly, but trying to sound upbeat. “We can nap after the joint chiefs have us shot.”

~*~

The ship was drawing the paladins, too. Shiro had parked Black at its base before going into the healing capsule. Lance brought Red, Allura brought Blue, and Hunk brought Yellow.

Pidge didn’t bring Green in mainly because it was close enough to just walk the distance anyway, and after days in the communications building she really wanted to walk. She wasn’t bothered at all along the way, not even by reporters, and only much later realized the fact that she was absently swinging Ryou and Shiro’s cybernetic arms around in each hand while she walked (in order to stretch a bit) probably had something to do with it.

At the feet of four Lions were a few of the new galra drop ships – functional but not particularly elegant boxy things, if the boxes in question were slightly flattened to bulge at the sides.

Coran welcomed everyone in, clearly happy to see them again and to play host outside of central command. He gave every paladin a hug as they came aboard, too, just to make sure they knew he’d missed them.

Iverson and Adam, coming from the airfield, were the last to board before Coran decided there were enough people to have a meeting, and he pulled up the ramp behind them. “Well hello there!” he told them cheerfully, which made both Adam and Iverson go somewhat slack-jawed. “We’re just going to have a little chat in the bigger den as soon as Hunk and Lance have made their milkshakes and snacks. Can’t have a proper meeting without food and drink!”

Iverson’s expression congealed into something that told the world he did not, right now, give a fuck how insane the world was going to be, he was going to do things _by the fucking book_ thank you. So he nodded in a formal way and completely ignored anything and everything that would be out of place or improper for a strategy meeting and fell into step behind Coran.

Adam, who was thinking of all this in terms of ‘so this is where Shiro’s been for the past several years’ lost his eyebrows in his hairline about thirty seconds after boarding, and didn’t seem likely to get them back anytime soon.

The two found ‘the larger den’ was a big, bright meeting room with a conversation pit surrounded by comfortable looking couches on which the paladins and Matt Holt (looking like he’d just come from a science fiction convention) were reclining along with a dusky elf woman, and surrounded by what were _very clearly_ galra soldiers, all standing up with their arms folded across their chests, scowling to convey that this was in no way proper behavior for a meeting.

Adam came to sit down with the paladins. Iverson stayed standing, and managed to make clear as he did so that he’d never expected to agree with a galra on anything. The elf woman seemed to be managing the room, smiling at the groups, generally being welcoming, and listening happily to the conversations.

Then Lance came in with a tray of – yep, milkshakes. And Hunk followed with two bigger trays of...hot dog bites wrapped in croissants, by the look of things.

Adam gave Hunk a look of _we’re in an alien ship surrounded by aliens having a serious meeting and this is what you go with? _That didn’t even dent Hunk’s grin at all.

The bit where even the galra were happy to grab handfuls of the little bites probably had something to do with it.

The elf woman took her milkshake, and said, “Now that we are all here, and have our refreshments, we should begin.” She nodded to Iverson and Adam. “I take it the two of you are in charge of this base? I am Princess Allura of Altea, leader of the Alteans, and spokeswoman for the Voltron Coalition.” She gestured to one of the galra. “This is Elcris, a member of the Blade of Marmora, and currently the assigned leader of the Blades dispatched to assist you.”

Matt gave Elcris a ‘you go, girl’ grin and raised his milkshake in salute to her, which she answered with a patient and faintly disapproving attitude. But she did step forward and put her fist over her heart as she nodded toward Iverson and Adam.

“I am to speak for the Blades on this mission,” she said. “Our task is to be certain that no Druid leaves this planet alive, and to see to the extermination of every Druid here.”

“So there’s three groups then?” asked Adam, surprised. “The empire, the dru – no, wait.” He stopped, trying to sort it out.

“Allow me,” said Coran, and all the paladins went politely poker faced, even Lance. Coran didn’t seem to notice, calling up the equivalent of a three dimensional holographic Powerpoint presentation. “At the top you have the Empire and the Coalition. On the Empire side of things you have the Blades, and Sendak’s Fire of Purification. The Fire was a rebellion against the Empire and an attempt to overthrow Lotor’s rule.” The little icon representing the Fire of Purification (a badly drawn image of Sendak’s head) got an X through it. “You also have the Druids, which are - well, they’re very bad. They used to be the Empire’s enforcers and scientists, but Lotor exiled all of them when he became Emperor, so they’re rebels too.” The icon representing Druids looked like Haggar’s head. It got a circle around it and moved from ‘beneath Lotor’ to a spot off to the far side of the ‘empire’ side, where it was away from both Lotor and the Coalition. “And then on this other side you have the Coalition. Princess Allura leads the Coalition.” Coran was visibly proud of this fact, and the Coalition was represented by a much better drawn image of Allura’s head. It had a glitter effect around it, which made Allura bite her lip on a smile and blush. “Voltron is part of the Coalition.” Coran hadn’t tried to draw Voltron, instead using a stylized ‘V’ after the crest on Voltron’s chest and the paladin uniforms. The ‘V’ was placed under Allura. “There are a lot of planets on either side, but right now the Coalition and the Empire are allies, with similar goals.” Coran beamed at Iverson and Adam. “All clear?”

Adam coughed pointedly before Iverson could start barking. “Yes, much better, thank you.”

Iverson gave Adam a suspicious, _you serious?_ Look. “Okay, so. The Blade of Marmora are – what? Imperial guards?”

“During Zarkon’s reign we were the galra resistance,” said Elcris, crossing her arms over her chest. “We opposed the emperor and sought any means to end his reign. We were spies and saboteurs. And we developed tools to destroy his Druids. Now that Lotor is Emperor we have come into the open as advisors, keepers of past knowledge. And we also hunt Druids, which is why we have been sent here.”

This had both Adam and Iverson looking at Keith. “You’re with them?” asked Adam, apparently trying to picture that.

Keith sighed. “Yeah,” he said flatly. “I am. My mother, Krolia, is a senior Blade. I passed the trials. I’m one of the Blades, and I’m also a Paladin.”

“So...you hunt ‘druids’,” said Adam, slowly. “Which are…?”

Allura spoke up. “There was a...tragedy, a long time ago,” she said slowly, trying to find the simplest, least fantastical way to explain things. “As a result of that tragedy, Emperor Zarkon and his wife were...corrupted, by a force from outside this universe. It made them immortal, but corrupted them at the same time. They sought conquest, and quintessence – life force – on an unprecedented scale. Zarkon sought this through armies and weapons. But Honerva, who became Haggar after this event, sought it through...well, alchemy. Magic, and science. She used contaminated quintessence to create druids, beings bound to her will and capable of terrible things when acting on her behalf.”

“So...space vampires and witches,” said Iverson, in a bland tone that said he wasn’t going to rant and gripe about fairy tales until later, at a bar, with a nice bottle of something very strong and glasses he could throw at walls. “Making _more_ vampires and witches.”

Keith gave Iverson a level look that said he was pretty much reading Iverson’s take on this off the inside of Iverson’s skull. “Yeah,” he said flatly. “Don’t take this lightly. Haggar came here with every Druid she had left – Lotor can’t stand them and wants to wipe them out. But _here_ nobody knows what kind of danger they represent. Druids have a _lot_ of power and they can kill you from across the room with no visible weapon. But these,” and he drew a faintly lavender dagger from his belt, extending it to a fine sword, “can destroy druids. If we can catch them. Gathering intel is pretty much what druids are best at. Close second is warping people near them to agree with them and protect them. They can do a _lot_ of damage.”

“They teleport,” added Lance, while Keith put his dagger away. “They can shoot this kind of black lightning stuff. And other stuff too. Look, _Shiro_ is edgy about fighting Druids. We need the help.”

Adam hmmm’d. “Influencing thought,” he repeated. “Would this Haggar have anything to gain by keeping Earth out of any alliance?”

“Of course,” said Allura immediately. “Both the Coalition and the Empire want an end to the Druids. If Earth is not on either side, there isn’t any reason for her people to be hunted here. She can hide, and build her power.”

“How’s she gonna do that,” demanded Iverson gruffly. “We haven’t been able to crack this ‘quintessence’ thing. And we’ve been _trying_, since Ryou and Sam landed.”

“_She_ knows how,” said Pidge sourly. “The Druids ran the processing plants. All of them, it was how they maintained their power under Zarkon. Lotor had to redesign his entire army just to cut the Druids out. Believe us, Commander. Haggar knows more than enough about how all of it works to personally teach anyone she wants. And it’s power. And immortality. There’s always people that’ll listen when you put those on the table.”

“Say we believe you, and these Druids exist and they’re on Earth,” said Adam slowly. “You have to realize letting armed galra loose to kill people isn’t going to go over well.”

There was a quiet, subtle shift in every Blade’s posture, that endeavored to suggest _let_ was probably leagues away from being the right word. The Blades would be doing exactly what the Blades _came_ to do, and were politely informing the locals about it rather than asking permission.

Keith, very calmly, said, “The Blade of Marmora has operated in secret for thousands of years. And they readily and easily infiltrate compounds with security that Earth has yet to even _fantasize_ about, getting in and out without being detected by anything living or mechanical. I don’t think you understand. The Druids are dangerous. Extremely dangerous. Lotor’s not going to let them continue to exist. Now, if Earth doesn’t want to ally with the Empire, that’s fine. That’s your choice. But if you ever want Earth to get to peacefully explore the galaxies? This is a problem you need to deal with before it spreads to a point where you _can’t_.”

Allura coughed into her hand. “I’m afraid the Coalition has a similar position,” she admitted. “Haggar has turned entire living worlds into barren husks in her search for quintessence. Entire _sentient_ worlds. Both worlds bearing sentient life, and sentient _planets_. She and her Druids are responsible for death and destruction on an unprecedented scale. And they’re now _here_. We can’t let them escape. This has to end.”

“So I think what the princess is saying,” said Lance, a bit reluctantly, “is the altean alchemists that came with her are _right now_ working on healing our people. But when that’s done, you can probably expect them to be helping the Blades.”

“Yes, exactly,” agreed Allura.

Neither Adam nor Iverson looked particularly happy about that. “So we’re going to have another alien invasion?” said Iverson gruffly. “A slightly politer invasion?”

“You’re not thinking straight,” said Hunk, rather gently really. “I get it. I do. There’s a bunch of galra you don’t know in here, and they’re all big and fangy and claw-y and generally scary. And alteans, you’re new to alteans too, and maybe they’re pretty and friendly but also big powerful spaceship that can cross the universe in minutes and how even does that _work_, right? And you want to put your foot down and close the front door and make everything like it was a few weeks ago. But you can’t, guys. For better or worse Earth’s discovered the universe, and the universe discovered Earth back. It’s like….yards, okay? You’ve got your house, and your yard, and that’s Earth. And all these people they’ve got their houses and their yards and good fences make good neighbors, right? But some kids have kicked their ball into your yard. And you _could_ stomp and yell about it being _your_ yard and the kids should just fuck off, it’s your ball now. But if you do that they’re just going to come back in the middle of the night to take it back anyway, cos it’s really their ball, and then you may also have some stuff get messed up or go missing because _nobody’s_ watching those kids. Or you can stand on your porch and let the kids come and get their ball while you’re watching and maybe work out an agreement for next time it happens, because all these houses are kind of adjoining.”

He paused. “….I’m kind of thinking that made no sense. Sorry.”

Adam’s expression softened. “No. I think I understand what you mean. But we don’t have the authority to make that decision, actually. We just came back from a meeting with the general assembly. We’ve been told to say Earth won’t be accepting any alliances, and if the Princess has any requests or demands, she’s to present them to the general assembly in person.”

Every head in the room turned to look at Allura. She blushed briefly at the intensity of the attention, then straightened.

“I have a great respect for democracy,” she said. “But its ugly stepsister is bureaucracy, and time is our enemy in this. The two of _you_ do speak for this Garrison, and you have the respect of the paladins. If Haggar is influencing events – as does not seem unlikely – then this is a roadblock she has concocted and it does no good soul any favors to be hindered by it. I am willing to go to speak before your planetary council, and buy the time you need.” She looked toward Elcris. “What kind of time _will_ you need?”

For answer, Elcris looked down at Keith. “I am told he is now a Seeker,” she said. “Provided Haggar has not had time to fling her webs too widely, a movement or two.”

“Week, that is,” Lance translated for the two Garrison officer. “Two weeks, tops.”

“There’s another matter too,” said Keith. “We’ve got to find those people Sendak kidnapped. We didn’t recover anything like as many people as we know went missing. The Generals are looking for them, but the Sincline isn’t a cargo hauler. We need some way to bring those people home when we find them.”

“One of those beat up cruisers will do,” Pidge noted. “If we can pry the scientists off it.”

“Take them along?” Keith suggested. “It’d probably scare the prisoners less if a cruiser turns up with human scientists on it. Strange galra probably aren’t going to be welcomed.”

Pidge nodded. Then raised two cybernetic arms. “Now. The elephant that isn’t in the room at the moment.”

This netted her blank, puzzled stares from the galra and the alteans, but Keith said, “He’d probably prefer his own back if you can fix it. I think he’d feel weird being given Ryou’s without having some kind of say in it first.”

Pidge hmm’d. “Ryou’s is a more refined model, I have to say. Apparently by the time Haggar got to him, she’d improved her process.”

“By the time what?” asked Iverson.

“Ryou was a clone made by Haggar,” said Lance, airily. “He was programmed to turn evil and kill us all but we figured the plan out in time and deprogrammed him and he was fine after that.”

“The lady you say wants to screw us all over,” grumbled Iverson, “_made_ the man who spearheaded our defenses?”

“The press are way ahead of you on this,” Keith sighed. “But basically yeah. It wasn’t his fault. And he didn’t come to Earth until we were _really_ sure we’d gotten all Haggar’s hooks out. You may have noticed he’s a lot like Shiro. He deserved to live his life.”

“Yes,” said Adam quietly, meeting Keith’s irritated glare with understanding. “We did notice that. I can see why he would not have spoken much about it.”

“It’s not gonna help us turn public sentiment against these Druids, though,” groused Iverson. “If she basically made the guy that protected most of Earth from Sendak.”

“We’re setting things in motion while Shiro’s healing,” said Keith firmly, in a _moving on now! _Tone. “When he wakes up he’ll know how best to fit in. Some of that will depend on if his arm’s working, or if he decides he’s okay using Ryou’s. I’m guessing he’ll help Allura first. He’s good at dealing with bureaucracy, and reporters, and all of that. And then he’ll probably help me in the hunt for Haggar. He knows better than anyone what kind of danger she represents.”

Lance hmm’d. “So it’s not gonna be all-galra teams then? Us humans can come too?”

“You _should_, yes,” Keith replied. “I mean the commanders aren’t wrong. People finding groups of armed, uniformed galra in the tunnels could go really badly. We don’t _intend_ to be seen, but plans fail sometimes. Did you _want_ to come?”

“Hell yes,” said Lance, relieved. “I could totally do with something I can just _shoot_. Even if they do cheat by teleporting.”

Adam said, “So what are we doing, and when?”

“One of you will please accompany me to this ‘general assembly’,” said Allura. “We will take the Blue Lion. I think the sight of a Lion – and the one that has spent so long here on Earth – may be useful.”

“I’m going to take Black and join the Sincline in hunting for the lost prisoners,” said Keith.

“I’m going to go with you,” said Lance. “I’ll take Red. The more the merrier.”

Pidge and Hunk shared a look. “We’ll get onto making a cruiser capable of bringing them home, then,” said Hunk.

“And I’ll work on Shiro’s arm at the same time,” Pidge added. “Coran, you’ve got the hub.”

“Yes,” agreed Keith. “And call us all back when Shiro’s due to wake up.”

Iverson scowled. “And these…people?” he asked, gesturing to the Blades. “And the green ones in the comm station?”

“We will wait for nightfall,” said Elcris. “And then one of you will show us to the nearest entrance to your subterrain network. We will stay out of sight, and begin scouting, but we will need a report-in zone.”

“The olkari are getting your comm room up to date,” said Pidge. “And probably having an easier time getting the geniuses to listen to them. Once they’re done here they’ll go help the alchemists working on the druid-injured. If that gets done quickly, figure them to wind up on the cruisers, probably yanking dangerous things out of people’s hands before someone tries sucking on them.”

“I will go with the galra,” said Steve quietly. “They will need a human guide in the underground. I can help with that.” He grinned up at Elcris. “We’ll see who is the better tracker.”

Elcris gave the (relatively) little man a raised-eyebrow _you honestly think you can keep up with us?_ Look but said nothing, only shrugging.

Keith looked to the two commanders. “That’s the initial plan. You two good with it? We’ll reconvene when Shiro wakes up and probably change stuff around then.”

Adam and Iverson looked at each other. Honestly, it was all just one big pile of mess, but it wasn’t _really_ a mess they could do anything to without making things worse. Better, really, to go along with things as far as possible, and hope Shiro understood just how precarious the situation was.

“Excellent,” said Allura brightly. “Now. Which of you will be coming with me?”

~*~

Once Black and Red had launched, it wasn’t hard to pick up the Sinclines talking – this part of space was …._empty_ wasn’t the right word. _Developing_, maybe. If there was life on the worlds near Earth, it wasn’t exactly ready to stand up and make noise.

“Black Lion to Sincline,” said Keith. “Which places have you three already covered? Black and Red are here to help search.”

Acxa obediently transmitted a map of the nearby stars, with auras around the stars whose systems had already been searched.

“_About time we got some help,”_ groused Zethrid. “_This is BORING.”_

“_No kidding,_” said Ezor. “_You guys totally owe us some fun time once we’ve found your people.”_

Lance looked over the map, and chose a star. “I’ll take that one.”

Keith chose another. “I’ll take this one.”

“_I’ve just completed mine,”_ said Acxa. ”_No sign of a colony. Moving on to this world next.”_ On the shared map, another world’s aura changed.

“_SO BORED,”_ groused Zethrid. _“WHY the hell did Sendak try to hide a COLONY?”_

“Why are you sure that’s what he was trying to do?” asked Keith. “Why not just, you know, make a colony?”

“_We started with worlds that would be easily terraformed,”_ said Acxa. _“There was no sign of a colony on any of them. Whatever Sendak’s intention, it’s doubtful he intended the prisoners to survive for long.”_

“Then we keep searching for as long as there’s any hope,” said Lance flatly. “And if nothing else…we bring their bodies home. This isn’t how humans wanted to explore the stars.”

“_Amazing how often people wind up saying things like that,”_ mused Ezor.

~*~

“This is so many kinds of bad idea,” grumbled Iverson.

“No, it’s necessary,” said Matt. He’d donned his rebel gear, and had a large and somewhat peculiar metal staff in his hand. “Really. You’ve got no idea how necessary.” He gestured, and honestly it was surprising to Iverson how quietly the gigantic galra could move, and how easily they hid despite literally wearing glow strips on their armor.

“Coast’s clear,” said Iverson shortly, and bent to tug up a circular iron cover. “This hole’ll drop you all right down into the subterrain. None of our radios work. They were built that way.”

Elcris checked her comm, and shrugged. “Ours work normally,” she said, and jumped lightly to drop right down the hole, feet first. The rest of her chosen squad – six Blades – donned masks and dropped in after her.

Matt gestured to Steve. “You’ll probably want to take the ladder. And a weapon.”

Iverson just unholstered his pistol and passed it to Steve, with a bland look that said he was dealing with strange aliens, so strange humans without security clearance was really so far down the list of his problems it wasn’t showing up at the moment. Steve gave an amused, understanding nod, took the pistol, and used the metal ladder to climb down into the hole.

Matt gave Iverson a sympathetic smile. “You get used to the weird after a while, sir.” Then he lowered some night vision goggles onto his face and climbed down.

Iverson replaced the iron cover over the hole. “Not likely, kid,” he said to the empty night.

~*~

Keith scanned systems in silence for a few hours, and wondered why being in Black wasn’t bothering him the way it usually did. It wasn’t like Shiro was entirely out of the woods yet.

…_But_…Shiro was in a medical pod, which meant he’d heal better and faster than otherwise. And Krolia was standing guard over it – not because Shiro _really_ needed constant watching, but because there were Druids out there and Haggar would target Shiro if she could and that was more than enough to send Keith’s galra hindbrain into a snarling tizzy. And Krolia _knew_ that, and thus knew that the only way for Keith to function properly was to personally guard that pod. Because she knew Keith trusted her skill. And because she was still mourning the loss of her own mate, and would fight tooth and nail to keep her son from that pain.

And that all seemed to add up to ‘everything is okay’ to some part of Keith. He didn’t feel like he was stealing Shiro’s place, or Shiro’s lion. Rather he was…covering for him, maybe. Making sure that when Shiro came out of that pod he didn’t immediately have to shoulder a ton of things that Keith could readily have taken care of.

Black seemed to understand it all too; there wasn’t any of the sense of impatience or ‘would you please get on with it’ Keith had often sensed in this cockpit. No judgment.

Maybe _both_ of them were okay with waiting for Shiro to get better, under the circumstances. Keith absently patted the controls, as one might pet a cat. They’d _both_ have Shiro back soon.

The generals had searched a lot of planets already. Sendak couldn’t have taken his prisoners _too_ far. He’d have wanted to be able to hold them hostage. So at most it had to be within one transwarp jump. With breathable air for humans, because setting up a habitation dome took time and resources that Sendak wouldn’t have wanted to waste.

Acxa had already thought of all this, and had ruled out a lot of planets. _But_. This sector of space wasn’t thoroughly mapped on Galra charts.

What if Sendak had used an _uncharted_ planet? The Generals might not have considered that – they were used to operating with much more complete cartographical data. Acxa’s ruling would only apply to maps they brought with them.

Keith started Black on scanning the nearby universe – specifically, overlaying its scans with existing cartographical data, highlighting anything that wasn’t on the existing charts. “Hey, guys,” he said over the comm. “These maps aren’t remotely complete. Acxa, I’m transmitting updated scans. The rest of you should start doing the same. Your charts are out of date. Let’s fill in the gaps and see if our missing people fell down one of the cracks.”

~*~

They were _astonishingly_ good at hunting. Steve honestly wouldn’t have believed it if he weren’t seeing it. They were, to a being, at _least_ six feet tall – several more like eight – and thus close to dusting the nine foot ceilings most of the time. They wore armor that had _glowing stripes_ on it, which should’ve been a complete giveaway in the dark tunnels.

Then again, a lot of them also had much bigger ears than any human – ears, moreover, that could swivel like a cat’s. They moved as quietly as cats, too, their boots soundless on the concrete. And when they paused, somehow the lights on their armor became background, not any sign of a living being. Like glow strips marking an electrical box or the keybox to a stairwell.

Matt, by contrast, didn’t even try. Surrounded by galra that repeatedly seemed to melt into the walls and shadows, Matt just walked down the center of the corridors, metal staff tap-tapping on the concrete.

Matt was the bait, and knew it. Steve wondered when the group had decided that – he’d certainly not seen or heard any such discussion.

Steve himself had years of practice in maintaining a sense of direction without a lot of external confirmation. He’d led tour groups through cave systems, and forest paths on cloudy nights. The Garrison subterrain had the advantage of being man made, and thus generally directionally aligned to start with. He kept track of their route, to guide the group back when it was time.

And, admittedly, wondered what a ‘druid’ actually looked like. He was pretty sure they didn’t mean ‘Irish shamans’ or anything like that, but mental images kept adding flowing robes. He did his best to keep alert in the darkness, but given what had been said about what Druids were, his first warning that one was near was a _feeling_. A sense of – of wrongness, that he couldn’t but any kind of real name to. He reached out to grab Matt’s shoulder.

Matt didn’t answer with words, only nodded.

The man was dressed in a business suit, when he rounded the corner. Neatly cut short hair and a crisp demeanor that would not be out of place in any board room or office.

But he wasn’t in a board room, or an office. He was in the underground, he was alone, and he was entirely in the dark and not wearing any kind of night vision aid. And he wasn’t the least bit perturbed to see Matt ready his staff.

Steve tried to decide if this man was really the source of the ‘wrong’ feeling, but there wasn’t any kind of directionality to it. Then again, the fact that the man was visibly far out of his element yet entirely unperturbed was kind of a giveaway.

Matt grabbed Steve to hold him still as the galra with them exploded into motion, their Blades extending into very large and intimidating swords.

And the man laughed a rather snide laugh and _vanished_.

Steve instinctively grabbed for Iverson’s gun and looked around for the disappearing not-a-businessman, but Matt (who still had a hard grip on Steve’s arm) dragged him quickly to the nearest wall, all but slamming his back up against it. “We’ve got to stay out of their way and druids like to teleport behind you. Keep your back to the wall.”

It was hard to tell what was happening now. The galra seemed to be used to fighting enemies that blinked into and out of existence, who threw lightning that somehow glowed _black_ in the dark. Rather more used to it, in fact, than the businessman – well, _druid_ probably – seemed to be used to actually doing the blinking. Proof of that came when the man teleported _into_ one of the galra’s swords.

There was a breath-holding moment as the businessman choked on blood, a hand rising almost feebly to wrap fingers around the giant galra’s sword.

Then…he exploded. In a literally blinding burst of light. When Steve could see again there was no sign of the man but a few drops of blood on the ground.

“Not to be rude,” said Steve, in the calm tone of a man who is mentally _telling_ himself to Stay Calm, “but what just happened?”

“That’s what happens when a Blade kills a Druid,” said Matt quietly. “Those blades aren’t made of any ordinary metal. I mean you already knew that, the way they change shape. But they’re _made_ to kill Druids. There’s something in them that counters their powers.”

“Cleanses them,” said the masked galra whose sword had done the deed. He swung the blade sharply a few times, flicking blood off it, before reverting it to a dagger. “They are corrupt beings. Killing them without cleansing the corruption risks others becoming contaminated when the corpses are handled.”

Steve nodded. It made a lot more sense than he’d expected, given how alien the galra were. But Matt – “You look troubled,” Steve said slowly. “Why?”

Matt sighed. “That man looked just like everyone else.”

“…Waas he not supposed to?” asked Steve slowly.

“Out there,” said Matt quietly, “Druids have these robes, and masks…and galra that get touched by druid magic, their eyes are just these yellow fields. But that guy – he was clearly a druid but there wasn’t any change at all. Haggar’s made druids that can _blend in_.”

“Ah,” said Steve, understanding.

“It does not matter,” said one of the galra. “They cannot mask their corruption. We have Seekers.”

They’d called Keith a ‘seeker’. Steve really, really wanted to ask what they meant by that, but now was probably not the time, or place. He just said, “They make the earth angry. This world wants to reject them.”

Matt gave him an _odd_ look at that. One of the galra said, “Just so. We must continue the hunt.”

Matt took a deep breath and resumed his ‘open bait’ position in the center of the corridor. “Right, then. Did you see which way that guy was coming from?”

Steve pointed. “That way. Toward the old refinery.” He moved to lead the way, trailing the rest of the group like ice particles after a comet.

~*~

Allura had wondered for years – well, since _meeting_ the other paladins, honestly – if _all_ humans were like the ones she knew, or if that group was somehow exceptional.

Right now she was leaning toward ‘the paladins were exceptional’. Adam was seated behind her in Blue, providing directions, and she’d picked up that he was some prior partner of Shiro’s but really, she could only wonder _why_. He was pleasant enough, but…she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what bothered her. Certainly Adam was nothing like Keith, but that meant little. After all, Lance was nothing like Lotor.

Earth was a pretty world, though. At least, it was pretty where Sendak hadn’t blown holes into it. She stole glimpses of it while following the flight path Adam laid out. “What can you tell me about this ‘general assembly’?” she asked.

“Earth isn’t a united world,” said Adam. “At least, not yet. The United Nations has been getting stronger each generation, but every country still has a lot of autonomy. Global scale decisions are made by the general assembly, which has representatives from every nation.”

Allura thought about this. “So…a great many people of small power trying very hard to be large voices.”

Adam smiled a bit. “I see you’ve encountered the phenomenon before.”

“The Coalition has a similar ruling body,” said Allura. “It is always the smallest worlds that want the largest voices. Sometimes they’re right to, sometimes …” she shrugged. “We’re still sorting it all out; the Coalition is relatively new, after all.”

“Land here,” said Adam. “I like these Lions. They cover distances much better than even our MFEs.”

Allura brought Blue down to touch paws to the edge of a landing field, on a decently sized island amid deep blue waters. As she stepped out of Blue’s mouth she heard sea birds crying on the breeze, and smelled salt. Her ears twitched at the shrillness, her nose wrinkled slightly and her expression shifted to a polite mask. “What would be the best goal, do you think?”

Adam shrugged. “We don’t know anything about you, or the Coalition,” he said. “If we’re here to buy time, maybe start there.”

Allura nodded. She wasn’t in her paladin uniform now, but a flowing gown that seemed to regard gravity as a mere reference point; it made her look like she was only gently acquiescing to touch the ground as she walked. The balmeran crystal gleamed against her forehead. She looked very much like the young queen she was, and Adam mused that several countries along the Mediterranean and in Europe would have names for her. _Elf queen,_ perhaps. _Goddess_. _Djinn_. She _looked_ like she had magic at her fingertips. And from what the others had said, she absolutely did.

Adam decided the best thing he could do was make himself her guide and courtier. Best not to let that image of faerie beauty be tainted by current realities. Allura could _easily_ hold the general assembly hypnotized for _days_. Which was good, since the galra had said she’d need to for weeks.

He tried, very hard, not to notice the way her ears seemed to twitch at every new sound. She was really good at not visibly startling, or turning her head to see what the sounds _were_, but she was definitely on some kind of high alert. And why shouldn’t she be?

Adam stepped ahead of her to open the door. “This is the assembly chamber,” he said. “Do you want me to stand next to you?”

And then, _then_ he saw the steel behind her eyes. She gave him a gentle smile that said she thought the gesture was kind but _utterly_ unncessary. He was hit, at the same time, with the firm impression that this little elf woman was about as delicate as a sheaf of rebar. “No,” she said. “But do stand out of the way, and transmit to my podium any cultural notes you feel I should know as the proceedings continue. We must give the others as much time as possible. The future of your species depends on it.”

~*~

Pidge grabbed Hunk on the way out of the meeting. “Before we go up there,” she said, “You need to see this.”

Hunk was used to this kind of manhandling from Pidge; she seemed to believe if she didn’t grab you by whatever body part was nearest you wouldn’t pay attention. “Hey, not so hard. What’s up?”

Pidge waved one of the cybernetic arms; the other was tucked against her armpit. “_These_,” she said. “This is probably gonna be your only chance to see both at once and you _need_ to.”

“Uh,” said Hunk. He was a little creeped out, honestly. Those were _Shiro’s_ arms. Arm. Ryou’s and Shiro’s. Hunk stopped thinking about it quickly.

Pidge did not have time or patience for it. She dragged Hunk down the corridor to one of their workshop spaces and laid the arms out. Then she got a scanner and handed it to Hunk as she took off the outer casings on both arms. “Stop it,” she hissed – and he realized she must have been having a _hell_ of a hard time with the scientists in the Garrison, because she was _never_ usually _this_ bad. “Just _look_, will you?”

Best not to argue, Hunk decided, and bent down to take a look.

Then he grabbed the scanner, for a much closer look.

When he started reaching for tools, Pidge nodded. “You see it too, then.”

“Wow,” Hunk replied without looking up, which qualified as a yes. And, “No wonder Ryou tended to be grumpy.”

“You brought balmera crystals, right?” said Pidge. “You said you brought a bunch of little ones.”

“Yeah,” Hunk agreed. He still hadn’t looked up. He was now using tools to (very, very carefully) move some of the wiring in each arm around, to get closer peeks at what was underneath. “Still in Yellow. Sam’s been in the pod.” He picked up Ryou’s arm, peering at the knuckles. “There’s no way Ryou knew about this.”

“The Olkari that treated him probably did,” Pidge pointed out. “I can’t imagine them _not_ poking at something like this. And there’s some signs they modified it.”

“Well, they had to,” Hunk pointed out.

“The _software_, yeah,” Pidge agreed. “But they got into the hardware too. I’m guessing they were worried enough about what would happen if Ryou ever hit suicidal levels of angry.”

Hunk lowered the arm to frown at Pidge. “...You’re planning something,” he said. “You’ve got planning-tone. You heard Keith. Shiro’s going to want _his_ arm back. Not Ryou’s.”

Pidge waved that aside. “I’m not arguing that. _But_ we can use the modification in Ryou’s arm to upgrade Shiro’s. I mean...just _imagine_ what Shiro could _do_ with it.”

Hunk did. He frowned. “Okay,” he said slowly. “But we still have to get that cruiser running. There’s a lot of people could die if we can’t get them somewhere safe.”

“But we work on this during the downtime,” Pidge insisted. “You know Haggar’s going to gun for him and Keith again. Her lost pets.”

Hunk grimaced. “Yeah,” he agreed, a little sourly. “Sure. Let’s ...make sure he’s got the tools he’ll need. But _secondary_ to the job at hand, Pidge. Shiro’d never accept us working on this while people died.”

He said it to remind her – she did have a habit of getting her priorities skewed when shiny science loomed. She gave him an exasperated sigh and threw up her hands in surrender. “_Fine!_” she snapped. “But you’re arguing with the scientists first. I’ve been doing it since we got here and if I have to argue with them I am going to taser them with my bayard and do the work myself.”

“...Uh,” said Hunk. He didn’t doubt Pidge would do exactly that, not when she used that tone. “Right. Sure, I’ll talk to them.”


	18. Karma, Return Post

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **SOMEBODY DIES IN THIS CHAPTER.** I am just putting that warning up right now, up front, so you can nope out if you need to. 
> 
> The paladins struck out. Well. Haggar's not really a 'turn the other cheek' kind of person.
> 
> But there's some good things too. Not everyone's day is horrible.

They didn’t really have a good way to deal with the dead.

Trevor Merisan would’ve been happier – a very, _very_ relative term, he’d come to understand – if they could at least have made cairns. But there didn’t seem to be any animal life on this rock, and much of the plant life had evolved to survive the extreme heat of the midday sun. Waxy exteriors and deep, _deep_ roots were the norm. Pyres were heavy labor, and cairns weren’t technically necessary.

They laid the dead out on the surface, downwind, in neat rows. The sun ….well, cooked the bodies, but at least if the day came that they were rescued, they’d be movable. Merisan tried not to think of giant spatulas. And laying them out neatly….well. Maybe someone out there with a really, _really_ good telescope might see the consistency and recognize a man-made pattern.

Of such fragile threads hopes were spun.

They’d lost dozens so far – anyone not particularly healthy or robust, anyone who got injured using the mining equipment or cut their hands on the spiky plants, they’d gone first. After people learned to treat even very minor injuries with great care, it came down to the food lottery; everyone hungered but no one knew (at least at first) if any of the local plants were edible. You chose your group, got your basket of gathered plant stuff, ate ...prayed. Several of the plants had proven poisonous, and it hadn’t been a great way to die – but then, what _was_? And their bodies had been laid out, kindly, gently, on the earth of the surface, where the sun would burn the bodies.

It was horrible to think, but it meant the plants that proved nonlethal – or at least, not immediately lethal – didn’t have as many mouths to feed.

And always, always there were two people assigned to keep watch from the highest place on the surface anyone could reach that was still in the shade. Hoping that there might be a sign, somewhere, that Earth had not forgotten her lost children.

Merisan didn’t have much hope of that. Even if Earth remembered them, who even knew _how_ many light years they were from Earth? It had taken six months just to get a three-man shuttle out to Pluto. By the time Earth got a ship to wherever this place was, even assuming they found where ‘here’ was quickly, there would be a thriving colony or bare bones.

In the meantime there were living people who needed hope or they’d all die much, much sooner. And Merisan did what he could to keep people on the correct side of sanity.

He was still surprised when the day’s surface-watchers came pelting down the corridor. “Trevor! Trevor! Mr. Merisan! Where’s Trevor?”

He heard them long before he saw them, their way pointed by curious folk. Merisan hoped like hell they weren’t crying wolf – he could _see_ the way people’s faces were lighting up at the watchers’ energy. If this _wasn’t_ a rescue, it was going to be a riot. “Here, I’m here.” He pushed through the gathering crowd. “What is it?”

One of the watchers – a boy, too thin, but everyone was getting too thin – gulped air. “You’re not gonna believe this, mister, but there’s a _giant red cat_ outside.”

Faces immediately fell, or turned to worry and fear. “You came down to tell us this planet has animal life?” asked Merisan. Animal life might be edible. Maybe. It was incredible to think of animal life not being bothered by the midday heat, though.

Both watchers shook their heads. The other caught her breath enough to say, “It’s a _robot_ cat, sir. It’s _huge_.”

That did it. Robots meant sentient life. Sentient life meant – probably – help. Merisan quickly grabbed both children before the incipient stampede flattened them. When it looked safe to move, he kept a firm grip on each of their hands and hobbled toward the mine entrance.

There was, indeed, a _giant_ red cat out there, sitting on its shiny metal haunches and staring with glowing yellow eyes at the cavern entrance with its metallic tail curled around its claws. Merisan had never in his life seen a robot that looked so implacable yet so _smug_.

“HEY THERE,” came a very human voice, booming out of the robot. “LOOKS A BIT HOT OUT BUT I’VE CALLED FOR BACKUP. WE’RE GOING TO GET YOU GUYS BACK TO EARTH, YOU OKAY WITH THAT?”

Stupid, stupid question – but then the speaker didn’t sound all that old. And it was hard to argue with the vehement cheer that rose up all around.

~*~

Hunk carefully, _carefully_ lifted out a specifically shaped piece of tainted galra crystal from Ryou’s cybernetic arm, and set it next to the one he’d taken from Shiro’s. “No doubt about it,” he said. “She gave Ryou a _cannon_. This guy could’ve done some real damage if she’d activated him.”

“Not just a cannon,” Pidge replied. “Check the software. It’s galra code too, not olkari. There’s data in here for a sword form.”

“Shiro’d probably like that,” Hunk mused. “He didn’t get one.”

“He’s got the basic model – probably just meant to get him through fights alive while they experimented,” Pidge agreed. “All Haggar’s galra talked like Shiro was meant to be upgraded at some point.”

Hunk eyed the balmera crystals he still had. And the two cybernetic arms. “...Y’think Shiro would be mad if we...you know. Tinkered? Just a little?”

“Keith only said Shiro wouldn’t want Ryou’s arm,” said Pidge. “I bet we can totally upgrade his _own_ arm and give him something awesome. But we’ll have to redo the circuitry to handle untainted quintessence.”

“Not a problem,” said Hunk airily. “Shiro isn’t gonna need his bayard for anything more than lion battles when we’re done here.”

“Bonus points for not having his brain directly wired to tainted quintessence,” said Pidge. “But we won’t know how that affects him until we hook the arm back up.”

~*~

Keith brought Black down to sit next to Red, but parked it such that its shadow fell over the entrance to what looked like a cave, or mine.

Once shielded from the sun, people – thin, haggard looking people – ventured out to see their rescuers. Then the Sincline ships came in to land and they froze – they didn’t seem to realize the ships were galra ships, but neither did they have any good frame of reference for them being anything else.

“How many d’you think there are down there?” asked Lance over comms.

“No telling,” said Keith. “There’s ...a lot of bodies in the sun.”

“Good thing,” said Ezor. “We might not’ve found them if they hadn’t done that. Do you guys want to try welding that barracks box airtight, to take them home?”

“No,” said Keith firmly. “No. We’ll get a cruiser working – or get Coran to bring the castleship.”

“My vote is castleship,” said Lance. “Way less traumatic, and also doesn’t need repairs.”

“While I would like to have the galra redeem ourselves in your people’s eyes,” sighed Acxa, “I must agree with the Blue Paladin. The castleship would be faster and more effective.”

“We still have druids to hunt,” Keith reminded her. “I’ll call Coran. Does it look like there are more colonies?”

While he put the call in to Coran, Zethrid answered, “How should we know? Don’t _you_ know how many are missing? Do the math!”

“We can’t,” grumbled Lance. “We’ve only got a very rough idea of how many _might_ have been taken. We should probably keep looking.”

“Hm,” said Keith, frowning. Coran was on his way, but this was maybe the kind of decision Shiro would be better at. They _did_ need to keep searching for survivors. And if they were going to use the castleship to bring them home, they didn’t need Pidge and Hunk fixing up a cruiser. So really, he _could_ pull the generals off the search and leave it to the Lions, and he and the generals could focus on hunting Druids.

But there was a benefit and a risk either way. The generals would be better at hunting Druids, but if they were found in the subterrain the human authorities would have a _fit_. Out in space, they could maybe redeem the galra in human eyes by finding the lost captives – but the _captives_ were highly likely to panic at the sight of yet more galra, and the actual rescue would be done by humans or alteans anyway, because the Sinclines didn’t have cargo room.

Where did he best belong? On Earth, hunting Druids with the Blades, or out here?

Keith almost startled when Lance spoke up. “You can’t think _everything_ to death,” said Lance. “And you can’t fix the eyes and brains of every human on Earth in a day, either. Stay out here. Let’s find the rest of the people Sendak took. We’re supposed to be protectors first, aren’t we?”

Protectors. Yes. A lot of Blade training was about redirecting basic galra instinct down more useful avenues. And Keith was supposed to, among the long list of other things, be teaching the generals to be Blades. The hunt could wait. Keith nodded, just as the castleship thundered into the sky, bright and beautiful and gleaming.

It was the first time humans had seen an alien spaceship that was, to human aesthetic sense, beautiful. The haggard captives gathered about it almost reverently, trying to clean themselves up a bit as Coran lowered the ramp. Keith and Lance got out of their Lions, along with the generals, to help with convincing people to get on board.

Of course, it was rather hard for most humans to maintain that reverent attitude after meeting Coran. Especially in his triangular sunglasses and bogwaggle cape, because apparently Rescuing Humans was an Occasion to dress up for. Lance ended up biting his hand trying not to laugh.

Merisan noted the two paladins were familiar with the pointed-eared...well, you couldn’t really judge an alien by human standards of sanity, could you, but ‘lunatic’ was practically begging to be applied. He settled for, “That...being, can get us home?”

“In a matter of minutes,” Keith promised. “Don’t insult his ears, don’t mention beef in any form, and if you’re offered a milkshake or discussion of milkshakes, just roll with it.” He nudged Merisan to go up the ramp, which seemed to startle and mildly offend the man, but he _was_ the leader of the bunch. If he went in, the others would follow. As a theory it worked well, and as people saw him ascend to the ship’s interior they followed after him, with Coran happily chirping words of welcome.

Lance looked at the rows of sun-charred bodies as the ship lifted off. “...They’ll come back,” he decided. “For them. Either to bring the bodies home, or build at least an outpost here so they didn’t die for nothing. And why build a colony _here_, anyway?”

The generals were already poking around the site now that the humans weren’t in it. Ezor was the one to answer Lance, holding out a crystal. “These,” she said. “They’re used in long range energy weapons. Like the zaiforge cannons.”

Keith blinked. “They’re so small.”

Ezor grinned at him. “So? Get about a dozen of these in the right configuration, with the right power source, and you could blow a hole right through every planet in a solar system.”

“I could see Sendak wanting that,” said Lance, sourly.

“I could see a lot of generals on Earth wanting that,” said Keith, just as unhappily. “For now, let’s leave it here. The last thing humanity needs right now is to get its hands on a zaiforge cannon.”

~*~

Haggar watched Allura speaking, through the eyes of one of her minions.

She’d had time to practice, clearly. And it seemed her son Lotor had undertaken the task of tutoring her; Haggar thought she recognized some of her son’s oratory flourishes. Lotor, who wanted all the power of the galra, and all the grace of old Altea. Ambitious, as his father had been.

Haggar still wasn’t…entirely certain what to do about her rebellious son. She found herself torn between pride in his accomplishments, and aggravation that he would not give her due credit for her part in his current position, nor allow her to aid him as she had aided his father.

She wondered what it would do to her son, if she broke this little scion of Alfor’s. Would he rise up and fully reclaim his father’s lost might? Or would he wither? It was an interesting thought; much of the result would depend on whether Lotor had come to think of Allura as his mate, and how thinly – or thickly – his galra heritage ran. But Haggar would have to move against Allura directly, if she moved at all; none of her fledgling Druids had a hope of taking her down. Haggar wouldn’t even ask that of Macidus, her eldest and most loyal surviving servant. Allura had grown far too strong.

There were easier targets farther down, anyway.

Someone had killed one of her Druids. Haggar did not know precisely who, or how, but she had felt the fear and the sudden silence, the loss of one of her minions. There were only a very few on this world Haggar deemed capable of such an act, and all of them were in the Southwest Garrison or connected to it.

She could not let _that_ go unanswered. No. There would need to be repayment. “Macidus,” she said aloud.

Her faithful servant appeared at her elbow. “High Priestess.”

“Find two of the highest ranking officers in the Southwest Garrison that you can,” Haggar ordered. “Have the order drain them utterly. And leave their bodies somewhere the paladins or their friends will find them.”

Macidus bowed, said, “Your will, High Priestess,” and vanished.

_You take one of mine, I take two of yours,_ thought Haggar. Without spite, or anger; it was simple calculation. And if two wasn’t enough, next time it would be three. Or four. Eventually the humans would get the hint.

~*~

Pidge and Hunk got the call from Coran; human refugees had been found, the castleship would go and get them, and they weren’t needed to fix the cruiser.

“Good,” said Hunk, nodding. “Didn’t want to fix up this pile of junk anyway. It needs scrapping.”

“Same,” said Pidge, packing up their work on Shiro’s arm. “We can do better looking for the rest of the refugees and fixing this arm up. I don’t like the air in here – don’t know how the scientists can stand it.”

That gave Hunk pause. “You don’t think they’re getting _used_ to it, do you? That’d be bad.”

Pidge stopped, too. “…You’re right,” she said slowly. “Who’s that guy running the transport flights? Griffin? I’ll have a talk with him on our way out. See if he can’t get his people to talk the scientists into staying on the ground and talking with the olkari. We can ‘accidentally’ blow up the cruisers if there’s no one on them.”

~*~

The timing was perfect; all five Lions, and the castleship, and the Sincline – all out in space somewhere. No one on deck who understood what a Druid was, or what danger they represented. That was a lesson the High Priestess wanted taught in her own time, and on her own terms. Now was that time, and the Druid understood her terms.

He’d had a name, before. A rank. He still did, at least on paper, but they had stopped being his identity. To the Druid they never had been; the name and rank he claimed belonged to someone else, someone dead. The Druid bore that dead man no particular ill-will; it was simply the High Priestess’ desire that the Druid fulfill a particular role for the time being, and thus the Druid’s pleasure to obey her.

She’d taught him _so. Much._ He could never repay the High Priestess for her great generosity in bestowing such knowledge, such power upon him. Playing a minor role was nothing. And now she wanted these mortals taught a lesson – and that, too, was nothing.

The Druid walked – as the role he had been asked to play demanded – to the administration bloc, where Commander Iverson was having a heated argument with Admiral Sanda.

The universe wanted him to obey the High Priestess’ commands, clearly, and had presented him with a gift. He paused in the doorway, watching and listening.

“I don’t care if you _are_ an admiral,” Iverson growled. “You can’t undo years of work based on information that was probably _fed_ to you by the enemy in the first place.”

“I know what I saw, Commander,” Sanda snapped. “I’m telling you, those so-called _paladins_ aren’t representative of Earth any longer. They’ve turned against their own people. We’ve got to shut this whole thing down. Start from zero. We’ve got the enemy cruisers to study. We can build from that.”

“And all the warnings about the side effects,” growled Iverson. “Doesn’t bother you at all, does it.”

“We have _no_ evidence of _any_ negative side effects related to being on or working with the alien technology,” Sanda pointed out. “It’s just a tactic of the paladins to prevent Earth from learning to defend itself.”

The Druid debated leaving Sanda alive. Surely, the High Priestess’ work with that one wasn’t done. On the other hand, she’d seen him. If he now removed Iverson, she would quickly conclude his guilt and he’d be forced to remove her anyway. No, better to take out both, at the same time. That left no witnesses, and fulfilled the High Priestess’ commands.

Iverson, oblivious to the danger, saw the Druid in the doorway. “General Kyor. Is there something I can do for you?” The tone suggested the answer had better either be genuinely important, or ‘no’. Whether or not he was outranked, Iverson did not suffer fools gladly.

Ah. The moment the High Priestess had waited for was here. The druid raised his hands.

~*~

James Griffin was just getting out of the hot tub – a beautiful antidote for sore muscles, and piloting the MFEs into and out of Earth’s gravity repeatedly absolutely caused them in abundance – when Pidge called.

This was a new thing. The paladins didn’t normally talk to anyone outside their little clique. Aggravating, certainly, but Griffin had full and busy days as it was, and not much time to dwell on it. He settled in a chair by the phone, in a comfortable robe, and said, “I’m here.”

“_Yeah, I can tell,”_ was a very, very dry answer. _“You forgot to turn the camera off.”_

Griffin grabbed immediately for the comm controls. He didn’t even _know_ the Green Paladin.

“_Oh, don’t bother,” _came the cheerful and absolutely female voice. _“I’ve seen more and weirder than you have any idea. And it’s not relevant anyway. We need to talk.”_

“I _think_ talking would happen better with either the camera off, or more clothes _on_,” said Griffin shortly, making sure his robe covered everything it possibly could. “What do you want? Aside from teasing me, which you can check off your list now.”

“_You and the other pilots need to start winding down the transportation of scientists,” _said Pidge. _“That ship’s bad for them, and we’re afraid they’re getting used to it to the point they aren’t registering the danger. We’d like everyone off them.”_

Griffin snagged a little wrap-type blanket to cover his legs with. He didn’t know how old Pidge was – didn’t know much of anything about her at all except that she was a Holt, and he knew how much trouble the Holts could be – but he wasn’t going to pose for her amusement just because she happened to notice him. “Rough call,” he answered. “The brass really want every bit of tech off those cruisers that they can pry loose.”

“_Yeah, but _you_ know that’s a bad call, don’t you,”_ said Pidge. _“You_ feel _it. Every time you fly near the ships, and every time you fly away from them. You know what I’m talking about.”_

He did, he had to admit that. The ships _hulked_. They _loomed_. There was an aura of dread about them that cruisers so obviously beaten two-thirds to scrap should not have. He blew out a long breath. “I do, but the orders to study the ships come from high up.”

There was silence for a few moments. _“What if I arrange for you to have new orders? Think you can get everyone off those ships before the brass come to correct it?”_

Griffin scowled. “There’s such a thing as respecting the chain of command, paladin,” he said shortly.

“_And there’s such a thing as the person who knows the situation being able to deal correctly with that situation. You have information the brass don’t have and won’t believe, but that is absolutely valid. You’re really going to tell me you’re going to let an administrative error of judgment continue to corrupt the best minds Earth has to offer?”_

Okay, that was a point. “What are you proposing?” he asked, guarded.

“_I’m going to see to it that you get new orders. They’ll pass all verification requirements except a direct call. I’m asking you to accept those new orders as valid and act accordingly – and _quickly_ – and when you’re corrected, to drag your feet as much as you can.”_

“So you can destroy the cruisers,” said Griffin slowly. “Our best shot at understanding the new technology.”

“_Not exactly,”_ said Pidge, that laugh back in her voice. _“If any of those scientists drag their feet coming home, tell them to look at the cubical ship in orbit nearby. And then tell them the guys that built that are on Earth, at the Garrison,_ right now_ and _happy_ to tell them all about how they built it.”_

“They are?” asked Griffin. “When did that happen?”

“_While you were ferrying people back and forth. We need you guys doing more than playing orbital taxi drivers. Get those scientists back planetside however you can, and I’ll cover your butt as much as I can.”_ She paused. _“Kind of a shame, but there you go.”_

Griffin blushed scarlet. And was fairly certain that it wasn’t just his face turning red. “You’ll owe me for this, paladin.”

“_I’m good for it. Good luck, captain.”_

~*~

There was a small herd of reporters whose sole job was to stay at the Garrison and keep an eye out for anything interesting. Any arguments, Paladin sightings, what were the aliens like and what were they doing – interviews being highly sought after, much to the bewilderment (and wicked amusement) of the olkari – and of course the Lions or the castleship moving. The galra dropships had adjusted their positions not long after landing, forming an enclosed triangle that hid an entrance to the subterrain, so they were quite adept at staying out of sight of all the reporters. Everyone else could make page one by saying ‘hello’ at the wrong time.

So when the castleship returned alone, without the Lions, that got everyone’s interest. And then the doors opened, and haggard looking humans came out – and the press _swarmed_. Humans – not space explorers, just normal everyday humans – had been on alien ships, on an alien world! And by the look of them, it was a story worthy of a blockbuster movie trilogy at the very least. The eagerness of the reporters to corner at least one returning human for interviews meant Coran had to physically pick up and move a few of them – much to their shock, since he didn’t look that strong – just to make room for those who needed medical attention to get through the crowd.

Once it became clear that yes, the returning humans _really_ needed to see doctors, it calmed down in favor of letting the doctors each grab a patient, loading them into wheelchairs or onto gurneys depending on how stable they seemed, and sending everyone (which included quite a lot of the reporters) for large flasks of water and nutrition bars, because pretty much none of them looked that healthy.

It was in this bustle that some bright cadet thought hey, maybe someone should tell the Commander that some of the lost people had been found, and that was when the tenor of the entire day changed.

Commander Iverson was dead. Admiral Sanda was dead. Both in his office, frozen mid-pose as if death had caught them between heartbeats, entirely by surprise. Their clothes hung on their withered, stiffened bodies, unsullied. Mummified where they sat, mid-argument.

The press got a lot of photos of that, too, before the officers who had known Iverson very well and who knew this was _not_ how he’d want to be remembered intervened to shoo them out. The bodies were wrestled into prone positions and given to the medics, who were tasked – with reluctance, because they had no idea where to even start – with finding out what on earth had happened.

It cast a heavy pall over what had otherwise been a joyous occasion.

~*~

Allura sighed to herself as the diplomatic day concluded. She rather thought she’d made some progress toward convincing the leaders of Earth that possibly, just maybe, there were people out in the universe that would happily befriend them and share technologies freely. The olkari at the southwest garrison were apparently a big hit in this regard, as were her own people working diligently to heal those Sendak had used as trophy captives.

But it wasn’t _enough_. And, frankly, she missed her friends. Adam had been a reasonably good adjutant, sending her quick little summaries of situations and national positions and other useful bits of trivia as she addressed everyone’s concerns (so, so many concerns) but she really didn’t know him aside from the general rumors that Adam had once been Shiro’s partner, and Ryou’s confidante.

Allura was grateful for the dimly lit corridors, away from the podium, away from all the _people_. Humans were such a baffling species even in _small_ numbers. An entire auditorium full of them made her wonder, honestly, where the paladins fit into human culture – or even _if_ they fit into human culture. Maybe what made them paladins was all the ways in which they were unlike the rest of their kind…or maybe it had been a really long day and she was tired and a bit irritable. Diplomacy was _not_ her favorite pastime, even if it was leagues ahead of war. And she could almost hear Lotor’s amused chuckle even as she thought it.

Adam was slow to catch up with her; perhaps someone had cornered him with a request, or a demand, or a problem. Humans seemed to have quite a lot of all of them. She didn’t really register the people in nondescript uniforms that seemed to materialize behind her, and to either side of her – not magically, just…walking up to her, keeping pace with her. There had been so many people going so many places over the course of the day, she’d quite lost track of pretty much all of them.

Until she neared the doors to the outside, and Blue, and one of the men reached out to grab her arm. “You’ll need to come with us.”

Allura looked down at the hand, up at the man. She _could_ simply pick the fellow up and use him as a club against all the other men, but that was hardly diplomatic. “Is there something amiss?” she asked politely.

He tried to pull her away from the doors, and was visibly surprised that he couldn’t so much as budge her an inch. She thought that might persuade him to try using his words, but he scowled and the other men in similar uniforms tried to close in around her. “You _will_ come with us,” he said, trying – and rather failing, Allura considered – to intimidate.

There were a lot of things Allura could do, enough so that she really didn’t feel at all threatened. The question was where the line marked ‘overkill’ was drawn; she was still learning about human etiquette. She chose, as a warning, to reach out to Blue with her thoughts. (Oh, she’d _missed_ Blue, and could tell the Lion was happy to have her around again.)

Outside, the heavy metal _thud. Thud._ Of the Lion’s gigantic paws hitting the earth could be heard, incidentally also setting off every car alarm in the area. “No,” she said gently. “I do not think I will be, at that. Kindly unhand me.”

The men around her were starting to look spooked, backing up. The one who had spoken, who had his hand on her arm, growled, “None of that, miss. Call off your robot.”

Allura shook her head, even as the gigantic silhouette of the Blue Lion’s muzzle entirely filled the view beyond the doors. “No,” she repeated, still gentle. “I do not think I will. Unhand me.”

He tried to force her, and again found that she was about as pliable as a steel bar. He tried to hit her, then, and with her free hand she caught his…and squeezed. Her expression, and her tone of voice, didn’t change at all as the others heard the sound of bones cracking, and her would-be captor’s face turned sheet-white. A third time, Allura said, “Unhand me.”

This time he listened, and she in turn let him go. The others didn’t even try to move against her, in shock at the ease with which she’d managed that. His companions all but carried him off, still pale with shock and pain, and Allura had to wonder what it had been _about_. Maybe she should have let them take her wherever they’d planned on taking her, just to see what was going on. Then again, Adam still hadn’t turned up. It was possible he _had_ been taken captive. That thought bothered her. He’d been a reasonably competent and companionable adjutant, and she wouldn’t want to tell Shiro she’d lost him.

So, Allura decided to look for him. She started with where she’d last seen him, and then walked slowly from there to the front doors, watching for places where a group might have caught up to the human. She realized she was already quite good at this kind of searching; she’d spent quite a lot of time in Central Command lately, and mid-level galra bureaucrats loved to ambush for attention. She found what she was looking for – signs of a scuffle, hastily cleaned up – and studied the area for where one might stash a new captive.

Altean ears were _significantly_ more sensitive than human ears. She could hear Adam’s voice, arguing with someone, from a room down the hallway. She approached with care – she didn’t have a weapon, and her battle alchemy was really more geared to dealing with druids. But when she heard the sounds of struggle, she didn’t hesitate.

Adam was trying like hell to fend off a group similar to the one Allura had so recently discouraged. Only he wasn’t, apparently, as terrifying as she was. They were encircling him, punching him repeatedly, trying to wear him down and knock him out. He’d already taken several hits; his hair was mussed, and parts of his face were already darkening with forming bruises.

That was really all Allura needed to know. She moved in quickly, punching and kicking with all her altean strength. The men dropped as if made of glass, leaving just Adam, wide-eyed and breathing hard.

“Remind me…not to piss you off,” he panted. “Thanks.”

“Allow me,” said Allura, reaching out with her alchemy to heal his injuries. If anything, his eyes only grew wider as he felt the pain fade away.

“You’re just _full_ of interesting tricks,” he said, running a hand through his hair to straighten it a bit. “Thank you, ma’am.” He bent to study the men she’d dropped. “Wish I knew what they’d wanted. They told me it was important to come with them – I thought they just wanted to talk privately, but then they grabbed me and started punching. What’s going on?”

“I was hoping _you_ would know,” Allura lamented. “Do we take them prisoner? Or are they likely to be diplomatically important?”

Adam started going through their pockets. “Not important,” he decided. “No diplomatic credentials on any of them. Doesn’t mean they don’t have any, of course. But it does mean we’re allowed to take custody of them. You have an idea?”

“I think I want to tie them up in Blue’s cargo bay until we have some answers,” said Allura. “How many can you carry?”

Adam blinked. “Er. One?”

Allura just nodded. “Pick three for us to take back with us then. You carry one and I’ll take the other two.”


	19. Shiro's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro wakes up and deals with ...well, everything since he went into the pod. And he has an argument with Adam that...really isn't about what you might think it's about from the words they're actually saying, but hopefully y'all can read between the lines well enough.
> 
> And yeah, we ain't doin' any floaty overpowered creepy arm because, haha, Sam's still healing up. I really don't think Shiro minds, and I hope y'all don't either.
> 
> For my part...I feel like I'm nearing the final endgame now. Really. I swear. (I absolutely forgive you if you're eyeballing this paragraph really hard though.)

Shiro opened his eyes after the coughing stopped. Long-term healing in a tank – which Shiro classified as ‘anything over a day’ - meant that you breathed the fluid _in_ the tank. And then the tank had to suction it out of your lungs so that you could breathe air again. It always made him cough for a bit.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected – Keith, probably. Or maybe everyone, the way it used to be when one of them got hurt. But when he wobbled out of the pod, it was Krolia who passed him a robe. _His own_ robe, though, he noticed – the combination of silk and thick cotton that Adam had given him years ago ‘to look dignified after a shower’. That _had_ to be a touch from Keith, to go prowling in Garrison storage to locate it and have it ready.

He was glad for it, though. It meant feeling a bit closer to human, even if one sleeve hung largely empty. The lack of the galra arm was...well, unbalancing, obviously, but in more than a physical sense. He felt a bit odd, without it.

“Keith, Hunk, Pidge and Lance are searching nearby systems for the lost captives, with Lotor’s generals,” Krolia said calmly, as if she were his secretary, or adjutant. “Allura is speaking for the Coalition before something called the ‘general assembly’. Adam has gone with her. Steve, Matt and the Blades are hunting the subterrain for the Druid base of operations.”

Shiro blinked at her. She _wasn’t_ a secretary or adjutant. Krolia was a leader in her own right. “And you…?” he said, and then coughed again.

A brief smile flickered. “I am here so that Keith may do what he believes you would wish done during your recovery,” she said. “And since you are now awake, I am seeing you are briefed.”

“Much appreciated,” said Shiro, a bit carefully so he didn’t have another coughing fit. His throat would figure itself out soon. “And, ah – my arm?”

“Pidge and Hunk have been working on it,” said Krolia. “Comparing it to the one Ryou had. I believe they have not only repaired it, but have modified it.”

Shiro winced. Of course they had. He’d have to learn how to use his own limb all over again. But at least he could count on those two to give him something he’d actually want and be able to use. They knew him. He tried to hang on to that, and not flashing memories of Pidge in ‘mad scientist’ mode.

Then his nose registered another oddity. “Krolia, why does the ship smell like a thousand people who haven’t bathed in a month were packed into it?”

The galra woman blinked. “Oh, you _can_ smell that. I was wondering if humans were noseblind to their own species. None of the captives seemed to notice. The paladins found one of the groups of missing people. There were significant losses, but they were able to rescue quite a few. The castleship was called to bring them back. I understand they’re currently being examined – and bathed – at the facility where the paladins’ families are being treated.”

Shiro’s stomach interrupted this attempt at a debriefing with a very pointed growl, and Krolia’s brief smile – and he noticed, she did smile a lot like Keith did – flashed. “Clearly, we should continue this in the cafeteria,” she said, and gestured to Shiro to follow her.

Shiro momentarily debated proper clothes first – but Krolia had said all the captives were off the ship and all the paladins were in deep space, so it wasn’t like he’d run into anyone except maybe Coran. And he _was_ hungry. “Good idea. How _are_ the families, by the way? Any word?”

“The last report from Romelle is that the alchemists are working as best they can with the human healers,” said Krolia, keeping pace with him easily as they walked. “She isn’t certain they _can_ be treated, but they’re still testing ideas with the healers. No one has given up yet.”

Shiro let further questions wait until they’d reached the cafeteria – which was currently stocked with rather more than food goo. “What’s all _this_?”

Krolia’s amusement was open. “It would seem that your clone left messages for everyone,” she said. “And his message to Coran included a long list of foods to try should Coran ever find himself on Earth long enough to do so. I understand he obtained the help of several Garrison staffers.”

Shiro stared. There was an actual cafeteria. Not quite up to Hunk standards of stocked, but several cuts above ‘spigot of food goo’, which was all he’d been expecting. There was even a menu, which helpfully laid out in basic terms what one could expect from a given dish without being fanciful about it. (Pasta sauce was listed as being tomato based or cream, noodles were just ‘noodles’ with the main ingredient as a modifier, meats were listed from the source animal rather than cuts, and so on.)

He rather suspected his clone had also chosen dishes that he, Shiro, would like. As at least half the items sounded delicious even with the odd descriptions. But he started with a salad, thinking about how odd it was to _have_ a salad, in his own robe, on the castleship. “Okay, I have food, I’m sitting down. Tell me the rest.”

Krolia politely took a seat opposite Shiro, and thought about it. “The Green Paladin is attempting to convince the human scientists to leave the galra cruisers,” she said. “Her reasoning seems sound, but the human leadership has refused to listen. The Blades are hunting the subterrain, and they are finding Druids. Previously human Druids, who do not present physical signs of their altered state the way galra do.”

Shiro frowned. “So Keith didn’t escape quite as unscathed as we hoped?”

Krolia looked more solemn. “No,” she agreed. “His galra shifts reflect the quintessence exposure. It is only his human form that is unaltered, and that is apparently because humans do not show physical signs of excessive quintessence exposure. But he _did_ recover.”

She paused then, putting a hand to a discreet earpiece to say that she was receiving a message. Her eyes widened briefly. “There is chaos outside,” she said. “The paladins are being informed and recalled. Haggar has struck back.”

She was still listening, but Shiro was now impatient. “What?” he demanded. “What’s happening?” _Now_ he felt ferociously underdressed. He started wolfing down the rest of his salad – clearly, there wouldn’t be time again for food for a while.

Krolia didn’t answer, but her increasingly solemn expression said a lot. When the message finished, she said, “Best finish your meal and dress. It would appear that Haggar sent a Druid to kill the commander of the garrison, and the admiral that your clone placed in holding.”

“Iverson?” asked Shiro, shocked. “She killed _Iverson_?”

“You knew him well?” asked Krolia.

“I – yes,” said Shiro, getting himself under control. This wasn’t the time for drama. “What about Adam?”

“Adam and Princess Allura were accosted at the ‘general assembly’,” said Krolia. “Both had groups of men attempt to take them captive. The Princess was able to dissuade them. She is returning here with Adam in the Blue Lion, with three of her would-be captors as prisoners.”

Shiro frowned. “So ...the Garrison’s currently without leadership.” He thought about it. “Commander Sablan’s next in line, unless Adam can take control. We’ll have to hope he does, because Sablan’s a conservative sort. He’ll want to pull in the borders, protect humanity first – which is likely to mean ordering us to leave.”

“Will you heed that order?” asked Krolia.

Shiro closed his eyes for a moment. Lawful, or good? He’d always hoped not to _have_ to make a permanent choice between them. Keith had it easier, in a way – he’d learned to distrust authority early on, and could choose ‘good’ without thinking twice. Shiro wasn’t certain that was always the best way to go, but he could appreciate the simplicity of having the choice already made that way. “...I hope it doesn’t come to that,” he said. “The paladins are coming home. I’d better get dressed.”

~*~

Allura arrived first, with Adam and her prisoners. They’d been caught up on the trip by Coran, which meant Adam was visibly torn between staying for the interrogation and going to join the rest of the Garrison for the funeral and the choosing of a successor.

Shiro opted for choice three, which was ‘drag Adam into a private talk neither of them really wanted to have but both knew needed to happen’.

“Your timing, as ever, is horrible,” said Adam neutrally, as Shiro closed the door of a commandeered room. “Ah. And a Garrison commander uniform. Granted, the rank was never rescinded, but under the circumstances it’s a bit tasteless, Takashi.”

Shiro gave him a _very_ pointed look, and said nothing until Adam sighed and said, “Right. _Shiro_.”

“I need to know if you’re going to push to take over the Garrison,” said Shiro flatly. “Or if you’re going to let Sablan do so.”

Adam’s arms crossed over his chest. “You’re _not_ Garrison, anymore, Shiro. You have the rank and the uniform, but you’re a paladin of Voltron and I know I’m not alone in wondering what that _means_, exactly. Beyond, of course, that you’ve probably latched on to the word ‘paladin’ the way limpets latch on to rocks.”

“I’m still of Earth, Adam,” said Shiro, almost growling it. “I care what happens to this planet, and I care about its future.”

“Only, I suspect, as long as this planet moves in the direction _you_ think is best for it,” Adam replied, unimpressed. “And I’d like to know exactly what that is, before I go making life decisions that may well mean I’m standing in your way.” He gestured at a chair. “So. Tell me, _Commander_. What _is_ your ‘grand vision’? This time?”

Shiro bit his lip before snapping back, _this time?_ \- Adam knew his buttons, of course he did. They’d been together a long time, before Kerberos. Which was part of why they’d needed to talk. There were a lot of remnants that needed dealing with. So, taking a deep breath and reminding himself that someone did need to be the adult in the room, he sat in the offered chair. “Since you ask, I see Earth taking its place among the civilized planets of the universe,” he said, deliberately calm. “Technologically we’re currently behind, but we’ll catch up fast. We’re innovators, explorers. And diplomats. You have no idea how rare we are. But the window for a welcome where we gain all the benefits for a minimal cost is _small_, Adam. The paladins have won a lot of gratitude and goodwill, but you know those things never last. Earth will be _given_ a great deal if we move quickly, that it will have to trade to earn if we delay.”

“So the green mantis-types in the comms area, they’re here at your invitation,” said Adam, a bit too levelly. “The elf people in the medical center, they’re here because you invited them to come. The galra in our underground – excuse me, the _good_ galra in our underground – are here because you invited them. Has it not occurred to you that the entire planet is getting whiplash and humanity is _never at its best_ when it’s given too much to adjust to, too quickly? You’ve been in deep space for several years. _We_ are getting our first taste of non-human sentient life _this. Year._ This is the first year that we _as a species_ have had to confront nonhuman intelligent life and you are _shoving_ it down _everyone’s_ throats. There’s _going_ to be a backlash. I’m half inclined to let Sablan lead the way. At least with him you already know it’s an argument you can’t win.”

“Are you really that frightened?” asked Shiro quietly. “Does the sight of an alien life form upset you that much?”

“You know the official story of what happened to you,” said Adam, just as quietly. “I’m one of the few that knew the _real_ story. That got to see your last transmission. Iverson didn’t know we’d broken up. Unlike Colleen Holt, I had security clearance of my own. I spent years thinking you’d found the alien life you’d gone looking for, and it had _killed you_.” He gestured to Shiro’s missing arm. “And frankly it looks like it tried. And then your _clone_ turns up, with Sam, and a lot of things suddenly Need To Get Done. The aliens that tried to kill you, and created him, are coming to Earth. Sam’s been a prisoner, forced to work on alien weapons tech. And that’s still all I’ve got, for _years_.”

“And then you come home and you think you can just tell me the universe is full of great people and think I’ll just nod and smile and accept it. Well, _Shiro_, I can tell you that _has not_ been my personal experience.”

Adam didn’t move while he said it all. Didn’t raise his voice. He just laid it all out like a list of charges, and finished, “It hasn’t been the experience of most of the people of Earth. And you’re a fool if you can’t take that into consideration.”

Shiro listened, and did his damndest to listen as an officer, a colleague, and not an ex. Neither of them needed the drama and this wasn’t the time, tempting as it was. Adam had been the boots on the ground for years here. If he said humanity was flat out not ready, he probably had a point.

But what Shiro had said about that short window was also true. If humanity waited, the universe would forget what Voltron’s paladins had done. Earth would have to prove itself worthy before being admitted to a body like the Coalition, or the Empire, and while each had different criteria, Earth wasn’t likely to have an easy time of it either way. And remaining independent invited predation by mercenaries and pirates that Earth currently had no chance of defending itself from.

He was glad he wasn’t angrier about this. To a degree he _was_ angry – Adam had a tendency to take the short view rather than the long one, and he _gave up_ when prospects didn’t look good. Adam saw humanity as afraid and angry and right now he was probably right, but it didn’t have to _stay_ that way. Shiro nodded, slowly, to Adam’s remarks. “All right,” he said. “Let me tell you about consequences. And before you get started, I won’t be the one handing them out, I’m just someone who can see them coming.”

“If Earth pulls in its borders, the Empire and the Coalition will both respect that. Earth is a long way from either of their usual territories. Even the ship that captured me at Kerberos was from the very farthest of far fringes of Zarkon’s forces, and Lotor’s pulled in the Empire’s borders since then. The Coalition’s even farther from Earth. Now, they _can_ help us – both of them could – but it would take investment on their part to connect us to the places where they have influence. So if Earth wants to go it alone, they’ll both be quick to say sure, and spare themselves that expense. _But_ that won’t mean Earth is _actually_ left alone. Because now this part of the universe is on the map, so to speak. Much as Columbus’ travels put the western hemisphere on Europe’s map, we’ll have fortune-seekers and would-be warlords finding their way out here. And we won’t have any help. We won’t have the technology to defend or pursue or fight them. How afraid and angry will people be then, Adam? Will they learn to accept sentient life when it is _literally_ knocking down buildings to make a space for itself here? Taking human captives because they sell really well on the black market? The time to head that off is _now_. If we don’t act _now_, while the offer’s on the table and the hands are outstretched to help us, Earth may have to fight its way free. And speaking as someone who has personally witnessed planets who chose that route, Adam, I’m talking about a process that could take _thousands of years_. Thousands of very bloody, very painful years. That we could have avoided.”

“These aliens would come all the way out here, just to hurt us,” said Adam. “These wonderful, giving aliens.”

Shiro sighed. “It’s not like humankind is full of saints, Adam. Every species has its dark side. Their guns are bigger and their ships are faster. It’s _our_ choice which side we engage with.” He shrugged the shoulder that had no arm beneath it, letting the empty sleeve flop. “This time.” He leaned forward. “It doesn’t have to be all or nothing. We can negotiate terms.”

And Adam’s temper flared. “You just _can’t handle_ being told _no_, can you Shiro?” he demanded. “I tell you we’re tired, and scared, and want to be left alone and you are _not_ hearing the ‘no’. You _never_ hear the ‘no’. You have to push and wheedle and beg and if that doesn’t work you just _ignore it_ and do what you want to do anyway. It’s no wonder you’ve taken up with your pet orphan, Shiro, _he’s never been able to tell you no_.”

For a hot second Shiro had to remind himself he didn’t _have_ a cybernetic arm. For another second he was grateful he didn’t because he had an _insane_ desire to punch Adam in the teeth with it for what he was implying. The knuckles of his living hand were white with the clenching of his fist, even so, but the moment passed. This, at least, was the argument he’d genuinely expected to have with Adam, sooner or later. “That’s true,” he conceded. “He never has. I think that, unlike you, he’s just worked out that there’s no point in doing so. Because you’re right; I _will_ work for what I think is right and I _will_ work for what I want. And I don’t let anyone get in my way. But what I value most about Keith is something you probably see as a flaw. He doesn’t give up _either_. He knew I was dying, Adam, just as you did, before Kerberos. But he never assumed I was _dead_ even though none of you admitted the truth to him. He never gave up trying to find me even when he was planetbound here. I’ve been lost in places I can’t even describe to you, long enough that even the rest of the paladins thought I was dead, but Keith _never_ gave up. He waited for his opening, every time, and dove in without hesitation. That’s why he has more than you’re ever going to realize was possible.”

“But I need you to borrow that will for just a little while,” Shiro concluded, speaking softly. “I need you to let go of _right now_ and look at tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that. I need you to believe those days are going to come. And if you can’t do it for yourself then do it for this _planet_, Adam. If humanity is angry and afraid then I need your help to assuage those fears and calm that anger.”

“Then maybe you can start with _me_, Shiro,” said Adam shortly. “This planet’s been preparing for an invasion for years – and we still lost _thousands_ that we haven’t even _found_ yet, live or dead. And the solution seems to be ‘bring in more aliens’ because we’ve got nothing. Convince _me_.”

“I’m certainly trying,” said Shiro, with forced humor. “I’m wondering what would convince you, given that alteans are here healing what other races have done to us, and they’re asking for nothing in exchange. And the olkari are here helping us get connected to the universe, and _they’re_ asking for nothing in exchange. And the galra that are here are risking their lives trying to help humans that, in the main, would kill them on sight without even thinking to ask questions first. What is it you’re looking for, Adam? This is as close as anyone in the entire universe has ever gotten to a gentle reassuring hand. What more does the universe have to do to prove to you that it has people who want to help, want to be allies and friends?”

“Respect our limits and our boundaries,” Adam gritted, and the way he said it made it clear he was including Shiro in that injunction.

“Bearing in mind they _can’t_ just ‘leave you alone’ without putting Earth at risk,” said Shiro, very slowly, “how would you like the universe to do that, exactly?”

Adam’s lips thinned, and Shiro sighed. “Look. Can you at least trust that my greater experience with said universe means my prediction that you _can’t_ become isolated again is right? We’re _going_ to have aliens in the neighborhood. We can’t unring the bell. Just tell me what would _help_, would you?”

Finally, Adam fell silent, giving the problem serious thought. “We need to limit alien presence here. Diplomatic groups and volunteer aid only. At least for a few years, while we rebuild what Sendak destroyed. And they need to police their own, in the meantime.”

“How long?” asked Shiro. He kept his voice quiet, just prodding a little, because he needed Adam to have a solution of his own.

Adam shook his head. “At least ten years. It’s going to take at least that long just to heal. If the rest of the universe can wait that long, we can re-examine the question then.”

Shiro nodded slowly. “Next question. Who do you want doing the policing? Coalition, or Empire? Please don’t say ‘both’, unless you want that ten years to be a hard border. If you make both groups wait, you’re going to _have_ to make changes when the decade’s up. It doesn’t sound like that’s what you want.”

“Then lay it out for me,” said Adam, almost mirroring Shiro’s _I am going to stay calm_ attitude. “Because I don’t know anything about either group.”

“Well, you can get a feel from who’s already here, and how they’re helping,” said Shiro. “The Empire is largely galra, still. There are worlds still that aren’t, but any aid you receive is likely to be mostly galra. They’ll _definitely_ police this system’s boundaries; the Empire is in the middle of a massive change but still has the strongest military force out there. The downside of that is they’ll probably treat you as a protectorate rather than an equal partner.”

“And I can use our own history as a decent guide to how well that will and won’t work,” said Adam. “All right. Pros and cons of the Coalition.”

“Less military,” said Shiro at once. “They’ve hung on for a long time against overwhelming odds and a lot of the Coalition’s military ships are currently in changeover as crews that have fought for years are actually getting to go _home_ now. So the ‘protect your borders’ aspect is probably going to be a bit more piecemeal, as worlds that take a direct interest in Earth take up that task along with it. Upside is, the Coalition’s in a better position to help Earth with pretty much everything else. Updating our technology, military or civilian, healing our wounded, rebuilding our cities – the Coalition members have experience and skill in all those areas because there isn’t a Coalition world out there that hasn’t had to do the same. They’ve been in your shoes – all of them, at some point. Those that haven’t lost even more than you have.”

Adam nodded again. “I see. And you want me to…”

“Keep humanity from putting its head in the sand and thinking that if they just pretend hard enough they can go back to before the Kerberos mission happened,” said Shiro. “They can’t. _We_ can’t. For better or worse, forward’s the only direction. Either on our own two feet – or dragged.” He leaned forward, solemn. “_Please_, Adam.”

Adam’s eyes closed. He didn’t say anything for several minutes. Finally, “Fine. You win, Shiro. Again. I’ll do my best to take over the Garrison. And I’ll try to steer the conversation toward progress. Don’t kid yourself though. It’ll be a bumpy ride.”

~*~

When Shiro and Adam rejoined the group, Keith and the others had arrived and were waiting. Keith immediately got up to greet him, taking his hand and then pulling him into a hug just as they’d always done. Shiro would have regretted not having two arms to hug back with, but he was reminded – again – that Keith was nearly his height now, and strong, and there was a love and respect shining in his eyes that was for Shiro alone. “Good to have you back,” Keith said with a little smile.

“Good to be back,” Shiro replied, matching the smile. He squeezed Keith’s fingers before letting go. “So, everyone, Adam has agreed to try taking over the Garrison. And I understand you and he, Princess, have taken some prisoners.”

“Before we get to _that_, though,” Pidge interjected, “you’re missing an arm. The question is, what arm would you like? We’ve got options.”

Shiro would have _liked_ to say ‘it’s not important right now’, but it really was. If only for morale; it seemed to bother his paladins even more than it bothered _him_, that empty sleeve. So he said, “We’ll try to make it quick then. What options?”

“Hey now,” Hunk rumbled. “We’ve kinda been putting a lot of effort into this.”

The two took turns outlining all their alterations and improvements, and then sat looking up at him with the partially enthusiastic, partially worried expressions of people who’d acted on their own initiative and now weren’t entirely sure if this was an ‘own initiative’ kind of situation. For that alone, Shiro made himself smile, and relax, and thank them. It wasn’t that he _wasn’t_ grateful, really. It was just…well, he didn’t much like having any part of him treated as something to tinker with and upgrade, and he did rather regard his prosthetic arm as _part_ of him.

He’d have a chat with both Pidge and Hunk about respecting other people’s personal space. But not right now. Right now they had a lot to do, he’d already had much too long an argument with Adam about things that _really_ should’ve already been settled, and…frankly an arm upgraded with toys that Haggar didn’t know it had was probably a net win under the circumstances.

So he accepted their ‘new and improved’ arm. That, apparently, had some kind of sword or blade in it, and ran on a balmera crystal, and could tap into a lot of computer systems (assuming Shiro ever learned how to do that). It was, at least, _his own_ arm and not Ryou’s. He was drawing the line at using his _clone’s_ prosthetic. “Will attaching it take long?”

Pidge grinned the grin of a mad scientist who’s just been given a state-of-the-art lab, and Shiro’s grin politely froze to his face while he reminded himself she was on _his_ side. “Not at all. You can even be awake the whole time.”

Oh. Great.

Just as Shiro was strongly edging toward ‘this is stepping on a lot of mental cracks that he’d thought were healed but apparently not so much’ Keith got up to sit next to him. Not obtrusively, not being Protective. Just …sitting close enough that Shiro could feel the warmth and sense the strength (and power? When had that happened? But it was there) ready to answer if Shiro so much as hinted he didn’t want to do this.

This wasn’t then. He wasn’t alone, this wasn’t a mad experiment, he wasn’t a guinea pig in an alien lab or among strangers. He trusted Keith, he trusted Pidge, he trusted Hunk. It wasn’t the most comfortable situation but hey, when had the universe ever cared about that?

“We’d best get started then,” Shiro said, and tried not to be too surprised that his voice was calm and level. “We have more important things to deal with than counting my fingers.”

~*~

Keith stayed nearby – close enough for Shiro to grab – as the paladins adjourned to a brightly lit medbay. Shiro laid down on a bed, tilted nearly vertical, but far enough back that Pidge could easily reach his shoulder and the covered connections there. “There’ll be a surge,” she warned him. “Can’t do anything about that part. But it should be a _small_ surge. You’ll feel it but it shouldn’t hurt.”

And that was all she said for several minutes. Shiro lay still, watching in an angled ceiling mirror, as Pidge carefully hooked up the prosthetic arm wire by wire, connection by connection. Sometimes he did feel something – sharp stabbing pains in the fingers or wrist, like when a limb went to sleep. But the fingers didn’t move, so he figured it must be phantom pain. He’d expected it to hurt more, but Pidge said, “I’m connecting the power last, so that if I get any of the connections wrong I have time to fix it before you get hit with the feedback.”

Which – made sense, really. Pidge wasn’t Haggar. She wasn’t doing this to experiment, she was trying to help. Shiro focused on meditative breathing, and the warmth of Keith’s presence nearby. Waiting, watching. He wouldn’t leap in unless Shiro _wanted_ him to. And after a morning of argumentative Adam, Shiro was deeply appreciative of just being _supported_, of someone unequivocally having his back.

“Okay, this is the point that’s probably going to hurt,” Pidge warned. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” said Shiro, trying to keep the tone light. He really just wanted this over with; he hated _anticipating_ pain.

There was the faintest _click_ as Pidge snapped the crystal into place, and Shiro felt a strong surge. It was like he’d licked a battery, if he’d used his fingers and it had been a _big_ battery. For a moment the whole room blurred with bright colorful light and he thought he heard Black roaring.

_I’ve got you._ That was Keith – holding his hand?

“- ro? Shiro! _Shiro!_” Pidge was trying to shake him, but he was rather bigger than she was and mostly she was succeeding in shoving him.

Shiro realized he was breathing hard, and made himself calm down. “What just happened?”

“Good question,” Hunk shook his head. “Pretty sure that wasn’t in the manual. You okay?”

Shiro stood up. Flexed his hand – hands, both hands. The prosthetic was responding exactly as it should. “Yeah…yeah I think so.” He felt more than _okay_. He felt _really_ good, and wasn’t sure he should trust it. And he was still seeing auras. The battery tingle was fading as his body adjusted, but _invigorated_ didn’t begin to cover it. Shiro almost felt jumpy. He raised his prosthetic hand before his face, made a fist – and a bright blue blade of pure energy extended from the back of his hand. He could see Keith giving him a bright, fierce smile through the red aura around him.

Red?

Shiro looked up at the mirror on the ceiling, extending his fingers so the energy blade would retract. He had an aura too, a sort of dark purple one. Maybe ‘indigo’ was the best word. Pidge was green, Hunk yellow…Allura’s was white, though somehow Shiro couldn’t be surprised at that. Pidge, Lance, and Hunk all had rather faint, nearly invisible auras, but Keith and Allura’s – and his own – were very strong.

This bore poking into, if it didn’t fade as he got used to the new arm. For now, though, “Thank you, Pidge. Thank you, Hunk. It’s a wonderful piece of work.”

“Yeah, well. If it keeps you alive when you’re up against Haggar, I’ll call it a good job,” said Hunk. “She gives me the creeps.”

“Hard same,” Pidge agreed, relaxing now that it was clear she hadn’t fried Shiro’s brain. “You look a lot better this way.”

Mentally, Shiro underlined the to-do item marked _have a chat with Pidge about tact_. But he’d been the one to say up front they had more important things to do. He flexed his new fingers, and nodded. Right.

“Okay, now that that’s sorted. I’m going to point at each one of you and you’re going to fill me in on what’s been going on.”

~*~

It was…well, a bit later. Everyone had, it turned out, had a lot to say. Thankfully, Shiro was good at sifting a plan out of a mountain of data.

He was also well aware Keith was Watching him and would be judging himself based on how much Shiro chose to change. That was understandable enough; Keith could lead, and lead well, but he didn’t exactly have the same priorities Shiro did. But this time, he’d done quite well; whether by following his instincts or simply by doing what he figured Shiro would have done, Shiro really didn’t need to make up for any mistakes.

Still. There was the matter of what to do now. Or at least, ‘what to do after Iverson’s memorial service’, which was in an hour or so.

“I know you’re supposed to be training them,” Shiro began. “But the Sincline ships are the fastest we have, with the best equipped sensors. We need the generals out looking for the rest of Sendak’s captives. Coran, you’re staying at the castleship to manage communications. If the generals get a lock on any more survivors, recall Allura and go get them.

“Paladins, Blades, we’re hunting down Haggar and her druids. Adam will be taking over the Garrison, and I want each of you to take a team of soldiers with you. Ideally they’ll help take the druids down, but at worst they’ll serve as witnesses. At least one person per team needs to have a weapon capable of hurting a Druid.

“Allura, you’ve got Krolia and Adam and we need to track down Haggar’s puppets within Earths’ government. You don’t need to act against them directly but we _are_ going to need to know who can’t be trusted. You and Krolia have the best chance of sensing something off, and you both have the diplomatic skills to help make Adam’s transition go smoothly.”

“And you?” asked Keith. “What will you do?”

“I’m going with you into the subterrain,” said Shiro, and made the glowing blade extend from his prosthetic hand again. “I would like to have a little talk with Haggar.” He paused. “But first, once we’re back from the memorial service, I’d like you and Allura to bring Adam and we’ll interrogate that prisoner Allura brought back. He might be able to point us in a good direction.”


	20. Light in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The paladins prepare for the final stage of the long war. Far away, light at last breaks through the heavy clouds.

The memorial service was _not_ short, despite having been thrown together in a matter of hours. Commander Iverson had been seen as one of the leading figures of Earth’s preparations and final defense against Sendak, and there were cameras everywhere, reporters _everywhere_, and every Garrison officer from around the globe seemed to want to give a testimonial even if their entire experience of knowing Iverson was “I met him once at a convention for five minutes”.

Adam did what he could to limit the podium time to people who’d at least known Iverson from before Kerberos, though this included people like Commander Sablan who very much wanted to use Iverson’s death as proof that Earth had nothing to gain by letting _more_ aliens through the door.

The paladins stayed out of it, at Shiro’s ...well, officially it was called a ‘firm request’. In reality it had been a suggestion that all the paladins immediately latched on to as a kind of social lifeline. They stayed out of the memorial and they stayed out of _sight_ as much as they could, watching everything from screens on the castleship.

The galra hadn’t needed any suggesting. They were currently hiding out on the castleship too, and relaying the service to the generals of the Sincline just to keep them informed.

“It’s...rather like a royal memorial,” Allura mused.

“Not really,” said Coran, who’d actually been to several. “Humans seem to move past things very quickly sometimes.”

Krolia nodded agreement. “He is already a symbol. It may have been unwise not to attempt to shape that symbol’s meaning, paladins.”

“We didn’t really have much choice,” said Shiro. “We’re flying giant alien ships and bring more ships of alien aid. It doesn’t matter that all of us knew Iverson directly and personally. As far as the world’s concerned, our presence right now would be an intrusion.”

“He was fun to match wits with,” said Pidge thoughtfully. “I mean, I didn’t like that he hid the truth from me. But he wasn’t stupid in how he went about it.”

“He forgave me for throwing up in the simulator,” said Hunk. “I mean..._all_ the times I threw up in the simulator.”

“It would’ve been nice to show him how much better a pilot I’ve become,” said Lance.

Keith said nothing, staying firmly out of it – but watching Shiro carefully.

_Not forgiving?_ Shiro thought. _I suppose I can’t blame you. He didn’t realize he should’ve told you. I think he thought he was sparing you pain._

_Because getting kicked out of the Garrison did wonders for me,_ was Keith’s mental growl. _Having reasons doesn’t make you right. I’m not gonna say I’m glad he’s gone or anything, but I’m not gonna pretend I miss him either._

Shiro smiled at Keith. In truth Keith really _hadn’t_ known Iverson that well, and nearly all of his interactions had been adversarial. Maybe if there had been time for the two to talk things out it would be different...but Keith wasn’t one of those that thought the dead deserved rosy glasses. He was being as considerate as he could just by keeping his mouth shut and letting everyone else grieve and process in their own way, and that included Shiro.

“He was a friend,” Shiro said aloud. “I didn’t always agree with him, but he had the Garrison’s best interests and Earth’s future in mind at all times. And we’re the ones that understand what killed him. We’re the ones that’re going to have to fix this.”

“So you have a plan, then,” said Pidge. “Okay, what is it?”

“There’s a few stages,” said Shiro. “Haggar’s had time to infiltrate. Whoever killed Iverson and Sanda didn’t raise any alarms, or even any suspicion, and there weren’t any bodies suggesting a forced entry. So their killer had all the passcodes and security clearances to just walk in.”

“And our patrols in the subterrain have revealed that humans do not show signs of quintessence alteration,” Krolia added. “Your eyes do not change, your form does not change. Her new followers will _look_ exactly like any other humans.”

Everyone briefly turned to look at Keith. For answer, he shifted to his galra form for a minute.

“Yeah,” said Keith. I’ve been affected.”

“Liiiittle bit creepy,” said Lance, holding up one hand in a ‘just a smidge’ gesture. “I guess I’m just used to it in the other galra.”

“Back on topic,” Shiro said firmly, and Keith relaxed into his normal, human state. “Because humans don’t show outward signs of quintessence exposure, we’re going to need some other way to identify them. Right now we can only hunt the ones that are definitely where they’ve no right to be – the subterrain. But. Pidge? Hunk? I want you thinking about this. If you can come up with some detection method, you’ll take away a huge enemy advantage.”

Keith took a deep breath. “If I can help, just tell me how.” It was _really_ clear he didn’t like saying that, but also that he felt it was necessary.

“We’ll be gentle,” said Hunk, and elbowed Pidge. “Right?”

“Yeah. Sure,” said Pidge, a bit too quickly. “You’ll be fine.”

“Now,” said Shiro, and the word had _pay attention_ infused into it. “Here’s what we’re doing. Allura, Krolia. You’re gluing yourselves to Adam’s side. Diplomatically you’ve both got excellent reason to be there – Krolia, you may want to keep in touch with Axca about Lotor’s wishes – but more than that, between you there’s a good chance you’ll be able to sense and kill any druid that tries to kill Adam off.” He looked around. “Let me be clear, that isn’t a personal request. Adam will try to steer this planet to a more accepting, open footing with the rest of the universe. If we _lose_ him, Earth is going to isolate itself. And if that happens, Voltron has to leave. I’m pretty sure none of us want that. So keeping Adam alive and un-captured by druids is important.”

Allura nodded slowly. “She’s killed two. She will kill more, Shiro. Especially with this public display. Haggar’s goal here is to convince humans she is better their ally than their enemy, and from what you say there are many who would listen to that reasoning. She will almost certainly attempt to build on that.”

“Then make sure Adam isn’t a casualty,” said Shiro firmly. “And anyone he points out to either of you as critical to the mission. If you can capture infiltrators alive, great. But not necessary.”

Allura smiled. “I still have three prisoners from the last attempt.” She bowed her head slightly, a gracious gesture. “When you’re ready, of course.”

“We’ll definitely get to that,” said Shiro. “Next. The hunting teams. I want at least one Paladin and one Blade in each group. Paladins for communication and experience, Blades because we need these druids dead and the Blade of Marmora is best equipped for that. We’ll fill out each team with recruits from the Garrison. I want a full scale search of the underground network, compared with known maps. Somewhere, Haggar’s built a nest. We have to find it and destroy it.” He called up a screen, assembling teams. “I’m going with Keith as my Blade. We’ll take Steve, if he hasn’t gone back to wherever you found him, otherwise the rest of the team will be Garrison recruits. Lance, your Blade will be Elcris, so take Matt with you too.”

“If I may ask,” Allura interjected. “The disposition of the bayards?”

“I won’t need mine, so Keith will have Black’s,” said Shiro. “If it turns out my new built in blade can’t hurt a druid he can toss it back to me and still have his Marmora blade. Lance will have Red’s, so you’ll still retain Blue’s, Allura. Every team should have a bayard as well as a Marmora blade available, at least until we find _something_ else that might take a druid down.”

Allura nodded. “I see. That will work.”

“Which Blades will be going with Hunk and me?” asked Pidge. “I don’t know most of them.”

“I do,” said Keith. “Pidge, you’ll be working with Vrek. You’ll want decent melee skill given your bayard’s preferred form. Hunk will work with Ilun.”

“And both of you do anything you can to pin down something we can use to give people a chance at correctly identifying a druid,” said Shiro. “Teams should max between five and ten people. We do want Garrison soldiers with us, because we need Earth to get an idea what it’s dealing with. By taking them with us we’ll ensure that gossip gets out from first hand accounts.”

Shiro then pulled up a map of the subterranean tunnels, and started marking out routes and possible sites for bases. “Each group will take a route. Haggar can hide her base but not if you know there’s room for one, and she can’t move a whole base quickly. She might abandon it but she can’t _move_ it, and they’ve got to cost her time and resources to create. So if we keep pushing, eventually she’s got to run out of places to hide.”

“Can human weapons hurt druids?” asked Keith. “At all?”

“A better question would be, ‘can human weapons_ hit_ druids’,” said Krolia. “The power they have lets them respond very quickly. Most of your weaponry is still chemically-launched projectiles. Whether they can move faster than a speeding bullet is irrelevant when they can _definitely_ teleport faster than the hand that fires it.”

“So…no single-shot guns,” mused Hunk. “Go for hail-of-bullet type weapons. Too many to teleport out of the way of.”

“Default tactic should be for the Garrison personnel to use their weapons to pin a druid down, reduce its ability or willingness to teleport,” said Shiro. “Make it easier for the paladin and the blade to take it out. If _we_ aren’t sure whether our weapons will hurt the druids, it’s probable the druids aren’t sure either.”

“The human druids may not yet know,” Krolia warned. “But those that came with Haggar certainly will. Humans should put their backs to a wall if possible; druids love to teleport behind their target. If you have vision-enhancing goggles I suggest you use them. Druids also enjoy manipulating light.”

“Four teams,” said Shiro. “Pidge, you’re going to be the cartographer. Lay out our best search patterns and track results. Use the existing maps of the subterrain and flag any that have been recently updated. If what we see doesn’t match what’s on the map, or the map is new, then we’ll know we’re close to something and meet up there for a joint attack.”

“Got it,” Pidge nodded.

“So...when do we start?” asked Hunk, far too casually and looking down at his hands. He hated pre-battle jitters.

“As soon as you’ve got your team geared up and a map from Pidge,” said Keith.

~*~

Keith waited until everyone had filed out before turning a steady look on Shiro.

Shiro just blinked at him. “What?”

“I wouldn’t argue with you in front of the others,” said Keith. “But why are we on the same team? I mean – I like the idea of fighting beside you, sure, but _why_? Wouldn’t a fifth team hunting make this go faster?”

Ah. “Because you and I are the only ones Haggar’s caught,” said Shiro quietly. “And she’s left her mark on both of us.”

Keith frowned. “So...I can’t be trusted to lead a group against her.”

Shiro shook his head, putting a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “I’m saying we’re _both_ compromised,” he clarified. “I’m putting people in our team that I can trust to knock us down if she’s got her claws in either of us deeper than we realize. She’ll see this hunt coming, Keith, she has to. She’ll view us – _both_ of us – as potential weapons she can use. I just don’t know which of us she’ll come for. So we’re both going to be on the same team, with people who can stop us. I don’t think she can turn her power on both of us at the same time. I think I can stop you, and I’m pretty sure you can stop me – especially if both of us have help. The _others_ are hunting druids, Keith. You and me? We’re going for Haggar. We’re the bait, and we’re going to be the trap.”

Keith’s expression went from worry to relief to a fierce little smile. “I like this plan.”

~*~

Lance got into his paladin armor, and for once didn’t think of it as being kind of weird to wear on Earth. He wanted all the protection he could get against druid magic.

Once kitted out, he went to join Matt and Elcris. Elcris, of course, was in her Blade armor, but Matt had abandoned his Earth attire for the tattered robe that covered mismatched rebel armor. He grinned at Lance, though the expression had a bit of worry and sadness to it. “You’re looking sharp.”

Lance returned the smile, knowing why it wasn’t just _happy_. Both of them would rather be watching over their respective families. “Yeah, well. I guess Adam’s picking our Garrison company, and I’m the one with the bayard.” He nodded toward Elcris. “Have you killed druids?”

“No,” Elcris admitted. “Until recently, to raise a weapon to a druid would be to invite decaphoebs of living in seclusion at a remote outpost. Haggar has a long memory. Fighting a druid, win or lose, would invite her attention for an extended period, compromising any mission the Blade would be a part of. And once Lotor’s rule was firm, she withdrew the druids from sight.” She drew her Blade, then, extending it to its sword form. “I look forward to the opportunity.”

Lance blinked at this somewhat bloodthirsty declaration, but Matt only shrugged. “She’s a complicated woman,” he advised Lance. “But she’s definitely good with that sword.” He tried to smile again. “The circumstances suck...but I’m glad to be working with you on this.”

“Same,” said Lance. “You’d think when we’re both on the same planet it’d be easier to find time to catch up.”

“I would not advise unnecessary speech in the tunnels,” Elcris warned. “Sound carries very well down there. The druids would hear us long before we might detect them.”

“Helmets on?” Lance suggested, a bit dryly. “They can’t be listening on frequencies without blowing their human disguises.”

The galra woman thought about that, and nodded. “Provided our human comrades can also be given such helmets.”

That silenced both men for a few minutes while they thought over options. The knock on the door startled everyone, but Lance quickly said, “Come on in.”

On the other side stood Ina Leifsdotter, and two Garrison soldiers who looked uncomfortably stiff and at attention.

“We are here at the request of Commander Weich,” said Leifsdotter.

Lance and Matt both blinked and took a moment to translate. “...Adam?” said Lance, in a just-making-sure way, and relaxed when Leifsdotter nodded. He opened the door to let the trio in. “Guess you three are on our team?”

“Yes,” said Leifsdotter. “These two with me are Corporals Shiff and Berner. They received high marks in self defense and marksmanship.”

Matt’s expression was frozen in a polite mask. Elcris’ probably was too, as galra measured such things. Lance just smiled brightly, because right now the last thing these guys needed was a ‘welcome to the kill box’ speech. “Glad to have you,” he said. “Uh, Leifsdotter, we were just discussing communications. You three have helmets, right?”

“We will be wearing helmets and battle armor, Paladin,” said Leifsdotter, in the same calm tone she seemed to say everything.

“Good, good,” said Lance. He was trying not to think things like _these guys are five years older than me, why am I thinking about them like they’re kids?_ Because he _knew_ why he was thinking that. They hadn’t fought druids. Hadn’t even _seen_ druids.

“Go and get your armor and your helmets,” said Elcris. “Prepare yourselves. I wish to see your equipment before we determine a final strategy.”

Lance didn’t even wait for the trio to look to him for confirmation; he just said, “You heard the lady. We’ll wait.”

And sat on the urge to throw a couch pillow at Matt, who had started chuckling quietly.

~*~

Adam was quick to take the paperwork in hand that would put him in charge of the southwest Garrison, once the memorial service was over. It didn’t have to be a fight, if he just got to the joint chiefs first, and he had the means to do so.

There were several garrisons, throughout the world. Each was led by an Admiral, who in turn answered to the joint chiefs who decided policy for Galaxy Garrison at the global level. Southwest Garrison hadn’t actually been in a position of leadership, until the Kerberos mission went so disastrously and uniquely wrong. Now, with the paladins of Voltron all tied to that Garrison, the joint chiefs were eyeing the position most carefully.

Sablan was vocal, but still in the minority. Adam had a four hour long interview wherein he was grilled on everything from what he knew of the paladins to what he remembered of Ryou, but when he walked out it was with the title of Admiral of Southwest Garrison.

He didn’t get any time at all whatsoever to rest on that victory, though. Two alien women were waiting for him in the parking lot.

“Should we, also, be talking to these chieftains?” asked Allura politely.

“No,” Adam replied, very firmly. “Right now, the Garrison position is Southwest is a test case. So. We make things work and you get what you want, we _don’t_ make things work and I have to deal with Ta – with Shiro being completely insufferable.”

Krolia nodded sagely. “An outcome I am certain we would all prefer to avoid. I do not have the authority to personally speak for the Emperor, although I may by the end of this day. Princess Allura _can_ speak for the Coalition. That said, the first order of business is to prepare the four druid-hunting teams. Your best warriors will be required, but more than that, warriors willing to follow the instructions of the paladins and the Blades.”

“Indeed,” said Allura. “I’m afraid nothing is going to prepare them for the reality of fighting a druid, Admiral. We would like to finish this business with a minimum of loss of life.”

“I can agree with that,” sighed Adam. “Let’s get back to the – to _my_ Garrison, and I’ll start sorting through the personnel lists. Once we’ve got the teams sorted we can move on to the trickier things.”

~*~

Pidge and Hunk took over one of the labs and pretty much let their teams play hide and seek trying to find them. Both of them had more important things on their minds.

“I’m just saying we might get further if we _can_ test Keith,” sighed Hunk. “I mean we’re _not_ gonna get an actual, live Druid for testing.”

“All we’d get testing Keith is – probably – higher than average quintessence concentration,” Pidge pointed out. “Which also applies to Shiro and Allura, and all the alchemists, and probably Krolia too. We need something else.” She typed furiously, pulling up a chemical composition. “The live version of _that_, most likely.”

Hunk eyed it. “...That’s what the residue’s made of?”

“The black stuff they’ve gotten out of the tank captives, yeah,” Pidge nodded. “It’s inert though. Whatever Keith did, it killed it. Which I mean, great for your family, not saying that! But unless we can at least _extrapolate_ the live version, we may not find the druids.”

“Why not?” asked Hunk, studying it. “I mean. If you keyed a scanner for human DNA, would it care whether the human in question was alive or not?”

“Cos this isn’t DNA,” Pidge scowled. “_This_ is the residue of a chemical reaction we can’t begin to trace.”

“Sure we can,” said Hunk. “We know this stuff’s what’s left over after a luxite blade touched a live human body, right? We even know exactly which luxite blade. So...we ask Keith if we can _borrow his knife_, take some readings, work backward. We have the people this came from. We have the knife that caused the reaction. And we’ve got the castleship systems which have all the elements _alteans_ know about.”

“Hmmmmmmmmmm.” Pidge studied the image. “It’s worth a -”

The door to the lab opened. In filed two Blades, with their face masks up, along with Griffin, Rizavi, Lance’s sister Veronica, and some people in Garrison uniforms that neither paladin knew.

“You guys need to get the hang of things like memos,” said Rizavi. “I mean, not that I don’t mind a chance to tour this ship? But we’ve got things to _do_. Wandering around lost just wastes time.”

The two galra folded their arms across their chests, nodding agreement.

“Uh. Yeah. Sorry about that,” said Hunk sheepishly. Pidge was too busy looking irritated at losing her train of thought. “So. Here’s the thing. We’re going to hunt Druids, but we also kind of want to capture one alive if -”

“No,” said one of the galra flatly. “We have nothing on this planet – nothing in this sector of the _universe_ – that could hold a druid against its will. We can not ‘capture one alive’. Trying will only result in higher casualties.”

“Yeah,” said Griffin slowly, eyeing the galra. “What...whoever that is just said. We’ve got a job to do and Commander Shirogane was pretty clear about what it was. It doesn’t involve taking prisoners.”

“Can it involve taking samples?” asked Pidge.

~*~

The generals conducted their search methodically, sending back reports to Lotor at regular intervals.

Lotor, in turn, was increasingly interested. Zarkon had always been keen on expanding the boundaries of the Empire, which was part of why his most bloodthirsty generals had been assigned to the frontier.

Humans – and, by extension, the paladins – really had _no idea_ what was on their doorstep. Humanity had barely reached the edges of its native system. The paladins had skipped quite a lot of the universe to wind up on Arus.

The generals were doing exactly as the paladins had instructed; their primary task was still to locate the remaining humans taken captive by Sendak. And Lotor was willing, for the time being and as a gesture of goodwill, to allow that any planet that the humans had been forced to survive on could be considered human territory. Even if it did take them several decaphoebs to get there under their own power.

Lotor, however, also had his generals looking for...well. Whatever interesting tidbits they might find. And they were finding quite a lot.

Humans were nowhere near as alone in their part of the universe as they seemed to believe. Acxa and Zethrid had already sent back scans that suggested an advanced race had been to several of the worlds they mapped. Most seemed to require significant terraforming to be habitable, and didn’t have enough in the way of mineral wealth to support the effort.

Lotor had already checked Central Command’s archives for reports by the vanguard fleets that had been in Earth’s general sector. He wasn’t _too_ surprised that there was no mention in them of this advanced society. The traces were old, and Zarkon hadn’t sent scientists to the frontier, he’d sent the most bloodthirsty warlords. If there wasn’t someone there to fight, such generals were more than likely to write off a system as uninhabited and move on.

Lotor was a different kind of emperor.

He wouldn’t order his generals to investigate closely – not yet. They had promised to assist the paladins, and in truth Lotor was curious as to what Sendak might have found worthy of claiming – or if Sendak’s goal had been yet more pointless sadism.

But once they’d recovered the lost humans, well. Lotor was starting to think it would be a good idea to send some of the younger Blades out there to see if maybe these signs of advanced life might trace back to a living homeworld.

~*~

Romelle cursed Allura’s name – but privately.

Most of the reason for this was that ‘being an actual alchemist’ had sounded awesome, until she actually became one and discovered that with power came entire _mountains_ of responsibility. She’d thought, once upon a time, to study with the Olkari. Find out how all these ships flew, learn to fly one herself, do a little traveling. See the universe, but not on _business_ – just explore.

But she’d passed the Trials of Oriande. She was an alchemist. And that meant checking on Matt’s parents to see how they were healing in their tanks from nearly bleeding to death. It meant doing lots and lots and ohgods _lots_ of meditations trying to feel out what the quizzak was happening to the humans that Sendak and Haggar hard tortured, so that they could be healed.

It meant being on a planet full of aliens but not really getting to see very many of them or very much of the planet because from the moment she woke up to the moment she found an empty bed to crash on, she was _working_. She’d never worked this hard in her _life_.

If she’d been the only one, she’d have complained much more loudly. But she wasn’t. All the altean alchemists had been called, and Princess Allura said it was very important that they really do all they could to heal these humans. The future course of the galaxy apparently depended on it. (Of course, this wasn’t _their_ galaxy...but Romelle supposed it _could_ be, eventually. Some of the others had been talking about what to do when everything calmed down; whether alteans would become a diaspora like the galra, or find a new homeworld to settle. Romelle was in favor of the latter course; she would like the option of living among her own people somewhere the stars were real.)

Romelle didn’t know the patients’ names. There were just too many. One of the others – Tavo, possibly – had marked the beds with colored strips of cloth to indicate which Paladin was most interested in that patient. Blue and yellow were therefore tied here and there to bedposts and patient files, but Romelle was still learning to tell humans apart and it didn’t really help that all of them were unconscious and thus not exactly great at conversation or other displays of personality.

She was much better at telling the _doctors_ apart. They’d gotten a lot...well, _nicer_ wasn’t really the right word, but they’d stopped bristling so much at the sight of alteans. Now that they understood everyone really was doing everything they could, even if the human doctors weren’t exactly clear on what precisely that was.

Today was going to be different though. Romelle repeated that to herself like a mantra. Today was going to be _different_. She’d fallen hard into her trance this time – which maybe meant she’d fallen asleep, but that didn’t matter. She’d had a particularly clear dream and at this point Romelle was more than willing to try anything.

The doctors often weren’t, so she simply didn’t tell them what she planned. She just went to one of the yellow beds and sat down next to the patient. An older woman, brown skinned, kind features pinched with fear and anguish. Heavily sedated – all the patients were, for their own safety. Romelle put her hands on either side of the woman’s face.

The dream had been so vivid. She thought about the dream, and the power she had, the light of it. To mend, to heal, to create. Light. She had to make of herself a light, and then...sort of _shine_ herself into this woman’s mind and heart.

All the nightmares seemed to be self-contained; private hells that brooked no visitors. Romelle wasn’t the only alchemist that had tried to see what was terrifying these people so much, hurting them so much. But they were blocked from that, somehow. They couldn’t enter the nightmares to lead these people out.

Romelle focused on that thread of light, thinking of it as a shining guide rope. _Come on. See it. See me. Follow the light. See the light. You can do it. You want to, don’t you? Here I am. Follow my light. You can escape._

That was the trick. She couldn’t _lead_ them out. But she could _guide_ them. She hoped, anyway. If her dream was true then this would work if she could just shine bright enough. Long enough.

Romelle’s eyes were closed, so she didn’t realize her visualization of light was, in fact, brightening the room around them. A few of the alchemists on duty were turning to see what she was doing.

It didn’t matter. She could sense it, the moment the human’s consciousness grasped onto that light-rope she’d visualized. “Yes, that’s it. Come on. Pull. Pull yourself out of there.”

Four alchemists and two human doctors watched silently as Romelle filled the room with light. A small gasp escaped several as the human’s eyes fluttered. Blinked blearily open.

“Yes!” Romelle cheered – and then realized she had a _huge_ audience, and was glowing, and immediately tamped down the shine. “er. Sorry. But welcome back! I’m Romelle. And you are?”

The woman was still blinking, trying to clear her vision. The human doctors shouldered past the alchemists to check on her immediately, shining little lights in her eyes, getting her water, checking her pulse, asking her questions about what she remembered.

The other alchemists surrounded Romelle. “You did it. What did you do? Can we do it too?”

“We can’t heal them,” Romelle exhaled, happy that it had worked. “But it turns out if we give them light, like in their heads – illuminate a path? They can use that to heal themselves. At least, that’s what I was doing.”

Soft ‘oh’s and nods. “We’ll start on that,” said one, and several others nodded agreement. “Let’s see if this works for them all.”

They scattered to try it – which in turn got several of the doctors to detach themselves from the roused human to go see what it was that was happening – and Romelle took advantage of the opening to go see how ‘her’ human was doing.

The woman was sipping from a glass of water now, looking around like she hadn’t the faintest idea where she was or how she’d gotten there. But she smiled to see Romelle. “You. You were in my dream. I thought you were an angel.”

Romelle had no framework for ‘angel’, but smiled on the grounds that it was _probably_ meant as a compliment. “Thank you? Can I ask who you are?”

“Hazel,” said the woman. She nodded toward the yellow cloth tied to the foot of her bed. “I’m Hunk’s mother. Is he -”

“He’s fine,” said Romelle with a smile. “I mean he’ll probably be a lot better to know you’re awake and going to be okay.”

Hazel sighed with shaky relief. “I thought he’d died….I thought the galra killed everyone.”

“Just a dream,” said Romelle, who knew it wasn’t really, but this lady had been a prisoner in her own fears for a long time and didn’t need to know more than that it was over now, and not real. “You just rest and get strong. The Yellow Paladin gives powerful hugs.” Which was a guess, but she was pretty sure of the guess. She knew a bearhugger when she saw one.


	21. The First Day of the Final Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bet you all thought I'd forgotten this. No such luck for you - my creativity's been swiss cheesed by the pandemic, but I've kept at this.

Adam came with Krolia and Allura into the bunker that was serving as the operation’s base. All the teams were assembling now, which meant several Garrison soldiers were treating the Paladins like color coded guide posts. The teams were, therefore, Black, Red, Yellow and Green. The paladins – with the exception of Keith – were all in paladin uniform, and thus quite easy to spot. The humans of the Garrison were still giving the Blades a wide berth, but the galra were doing their best to look as un-intimidating as they could. For several, this meant sitting on the floor, so they didn’t accidentally loom over anyone. From this position they could be seen demonstrating their Blade’s ability to grow and shrink.

Allura put a hand on Adam’s forearm. “I know you will want to speak to Shiro before they set out, but...I have news for Hunk. I think your presence might be helpful.”

Adam frowned, puzzled. “All right, although I don’t understand what you think I could do. I don’t know Hunk well.”

“You are human,” said Allura. “I think he’s going to need that, in a moment.” She led the way over to where Hunk was watching them approach. He wore the slightly nervous expression of someone who regards a teacher’s interest as a sign of bad things to come.

“Uh. Hi,” he said, focusing on Allura. “Come to see us off? Kinda wish you could come along, honestly.”

“I have a lot of work to do up here,” said Allura softly. “And in that capacity, I have news.”

She didn’t see Lance perk up and turn his attention toward her. Or Matt. Or Pidge.

Hunk was _not_ loving this. He was clearly expecting the worst and not at all sure he was ready to hear it. “Look, maybe after -”

Allura took a deep breath and interrupted. “Hunk, it’s good news. Romelle woke your mother. She’s going to be fine.”

She barely got her hands up in time to fend a little breathing room in Hunk’s crushing, tearful bearhug. “She’s gonna be okay?” he sniffled. “You’re not just saying that?”

Allura found herself surrounded now, by Pidge and Matt and Lance, all watching her with hopeful looks.

Adam realized what he was needed for. “Guys. Give her room to breathe. She’s just the messenger for this.”

“Yeah, but – if they’ve solved it -” Lance began. It was getting the attention of his sister, too, tears shining in her eyes. “Was it just the once or can they help everyone?”

Hunk clearly didn’t want to let Allura go, but he made himself do it. Running the back of his gauntlet across a runny nose, he said, “We can’t do this now. We’ve gotta get to the hospital. I mean who knows what -”

“No, Hunk,” said Adam firmly. “This isn’t over yet. Your family isn’t _safe_ yet.” He looked around at the others. “Nor are yours, or anyone else’s. Not if what you’ve all told me is true. Allura and Krolia and I will do everything in our power to protect your families while you hunt the Druids. But from what you’ve all told me, that won’t be much. Not if you paladins stay behind.”

“I promise you, all of my people are working hard to replicate Romelle’s success,” Allura assured her friends. “When you have finished your work, hopefully we will also have finished ours. Romelle wanted to be sure you had the good news to take with you before leaving.”

“Lance?” asked Veronica. She looked like she was doing her damndest not to cry.

Lance wasn’t much better; he was breathing in a very controlled way, swallowing hard. “It’s – it’s good news. Allura wouldn’t say things like that just to say them. When we’re done here, we’re gonna go see the family.” He raised his head to give his sister a steady, iron look. “So you’re coming back. And so am I. No excuses.”

Veronica smiled a little smile; she was older than Lance and apparently found this attitude in her little brother to be cute. “No excuses,” she agreed, and moved to stand by Pidge.

Hunk just stood for several moments. Breathing in, out. His hands kept clenching and unclenching like he just really wanted to hug but was afraid that right now he’d hurt someone.

Keith nudged Shiro, just slightly. Maybe it was a prompt. Maybe it was permission. Shiro gave Keith a little smile and then walked over to let Hunk have a few moments to hug as hard as he damn well wanted, and stroked Hunk’s back soothingly until the emotional storm was under control.

“You good?” Shiro asked.

Hunk took a deep breath. “I’m good.” He drew his bayard, manifesting the personal cannon he called a gun. “Those druids aren’t hurting _anybody’s_ family. Ever. Again.”

“Damn right they’re not,” Lance agreed, and the mumured chorus of affirmation went around the bunker.

Keith drew his Blade, extending it, and walked forward. “Last orders. Garrison people. Until you’ve seen a Druid in action, be very careful how you aim your weapons. They move a _lot_ faster than you’re ready to believe and you don’t want to shoot your own team by accident. Your job, once a druid is located, is to keep them occupied and keep them moving. Make them teleport – yes, they _teleport_ – and let the paladin and the blade make the kill. If you don’t know what to do, then put your back to a wall and do nothing until you’re sure of your course. Believe me, hanging back is better than charging in before you’re ready. Druids thrive on confusion and they’ll use you to create more if they can.”

Shiro added, “And don’t be concerned if you don’t find a druid on your first trip out. We’re taking Kinkade,” he hiked a thumb over his shoulder at his group, and Kinkade did indeed have a fully charged camera at the ready. “Haggar’s an efficient sort. She’ll definitely throw roadblocks at Keith and I. Kinkade will film it all, and put together a briefing for you and anyone that joins in later.”

Rizavi’s eyes narrowed. “You mean any replacements for if we’re killed, don’t you.”

Shiro didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. He just said, “Good luck, everyone.”

The wish was heartfelt and genuine...and made clear everyone was going to need it.

~*~

“So why do we have to have you with us if you aren’t armed?” asked one of the Garrison soldiers assigned to the team.

“I’m armed,” said Lance, with the kind of fake calm he’d perfected around toddler relatives. “I just won’t know what we need until things start happening.”

“Best to think of bayards as magic weapons,” Matt advised lightly. “I mean they’re not, there’s all kinds of stuff behind how they do what they do, but explaining any of it would take most of a week and you’d probably want to murder me two hours in. So go with ‘magic weapon that becomes lots of different weapons as needed’ and leave it there.”

Lance was glad he couldn’t see Elcris’ expresion behind her Blade mask. He didn’t need ‘are humans really this stupid’ on top of the actual stupid.

The other soldier asked, “Okay, if he’s got the magic swiss army knife, why are _you_ carrying around a signpole?”

“Because I’ve gotten in a lot of practice with it,” Matt replied. “And it never runs out of ammunition. You should speak louder. I don’t think any druids in the next corridor over heard you.”

Lance tried not to grin. Matt hadn’t fought druids, but he’d encountered them, and their magic, and had the entirely healthy terror of one in possession of that knowledge. The group were walking along their assigned route in the subterrain, which currently meant pacing some disused railway and watching for any signs of new tunnels. Elcris was, to any outward study, the only one taking this at all seriously; the Blade kept to the walls, avoided pools of light, and seemed to be regarding the group of humans as a walking, chatting bundle of bait.

Which, maybe, they were. Lance had to admit he had no idea what would _draw out_ a druid. They weren’t hunters, like galra were. You couldn’t, so to speak, pretend to have a broken wing and flap about dramatically. The only thing they could do was what they were already doing; patrol. Hope they ran into -

Lance paused, holding up a hand to stop the group. It fell silent; the Garrison additions might not have any idea what they were doing here, but they’d been trained in combat. Their hands went to their weapons and their eyes snapped on Lance.

Who felt really, _really_ self-conscious at all the attention, but there was someone in the corridor. The silhouette said _officer_, not _druid_, but no one – _no one_ – was supposed to be in this corridor but Lance’s own team. “This area’s off limits,” he said, pitching his voice to carry.

“I’ve got so much rank on you, you could stand on your great grandchildren’s shoulders and not come up to my knee,” groused an older man’s voice, walking calmly toward them. “Which means if I want to walk here, no _commander_ is going to tell me otherwise.”

“_Admiral_ Weich ordered all non-patrol personnel to avoid the tunnels,” Lance replied, and raised his hand as if to draw a weapon. That was the beauty of bayards; to a degree, they read your mind. His hand was halfway to ready-aim when the red blaster rifle appeared in it.

The Garrison addons to the team were staring at Lance like he’d lost his last marble, but Matt got in front of Lance while staying out of his line of fire, readying his staff. And, much more quietly, in the shadows Elcris drew her Blade, watching the newcomer.

“Lower your weapon before I have you court martialed, _cadet_,” growled the officer, without pausing his slow, strolling approach.

“Stop where you are,” Lance replied steadily, raising the rifle to take aim.

The officer did so, pausing in the pool of light of one of the intermittently-placed bulbs. There was a wide, arrogantly smug smile on the man’s face. “So you’re what they call a paladin. Have to say...not impressed.” Then he disappeared.

Lance and Matt both had an idea what to expect – they moved to stand back to back, turning so they faced to the left and right of where the officer had been. The officer – druid – appeared behind one of the Garrison additions just long enough to knife him in the back; Matt swung his staff at the druid’s head and forced it to teleport.

“What the fuck?”

“Corporal Berner – back to the wall!” ordered Leifsdotter, even as she did the same toward the opposite wall.

Matt stayed low, swinging his staff toward where the druid’s legs would be, even as Lance aimed for the stomach and chest areas. Elcris bounded forward – and she could _really_ leap, covering a dozen feet easily with one striding jump – and her Blade was a sword that swung in tandem with Matt’s staff, reducing the places the druid could reappear and do harm. Lance rotated fire among those holes; he couldn’t hope to have faster reflexes than a druid, but if they kept the pressure on the druid was bound to teleport into the staff, the Blade, or the bayard-blast.

“Berner – watch the places the druid could appear for a quick stab,” Lance ordered. “Get it together! We’ll get your buddy home as soon as we’re not in danger!”

Berner clearly wasn’t sure how fighting alongside a galra against one of his own officers had happened, but for now seemed willing to obey.

“Be ready,” warned Elcris. “Druids often -”

Black-purple lightning scythed out, hitting Lance and Matt. And it hurt; Lance probably screamed, but he didn’t remember it later.

Sadistic opportunity might not lure a druid out, but it apparently kept them in the open. Lance and Matt jerked on the tendrils of magical lightning, both lost in private worlds of agony, until a burst of white light brought surcease and silence and they dropped to the ground, panting for breath.

After a few seconds – possibly just for their eyes to readjust to the dim light the corridor defaulted to – Leifsdotter and Berner approached.

“Paladin, are you alive?” asked Leifsdotter in an almost clinical tone.

“Think so,” wheezed Lance. “Matt?”

“I hate breathing,” groaned Matt. “What was that?”

Elcris stepped forward. “That is what happens when a Marmora blade purifies a druid,” she said with satisfied finality. “Let us get our fallen comrade back to the Garrison. We will need another, before we come back to this patrol.”

“His _name_ was Shiff,” snapped Berner, bending to pull up the body of their fallen member. After a stiff pause, he added, “...Thank you for saving us.”

“I did not ‘save’ you,” said Elcris. “We are the team assigned this task. There were always going to be losses. One cannot fight druids without losses. One works with the group to minimize them.”

She meant it kindly – at least insofar as the galra understood the human impulse. Berner didn’t take it that way, though. He turned, with the body of Shiff over one shoulder, and started back for the Garrison.

Leifsdotter looked down at Lance and Matt, who both smelled faintly of burnt hair. “Can you walk?”

“See, this is why a staff,” said Matt, rolling over and using said staff to lever himself to his feet. “You get your ass kicked enough, you start thinking maybe a weapon that helps you stand up is a good idea.”

He held out a hand to pull Lance to his feet. “Must be nice,” Lance agreed. “Thanks. And one point to Elcris. I’ll vouch for the winner to whoever their CO is at the end of this.”

“Olia won’t believe you,” said Matt, leaning on his staff as they walked.

~*~

Adam was not twiddling his thumbs while the paladin teams began their underground hunt. He’d given his word reluctantly, but he _had_ given his word.

That meant, at the moment, calling the press corps to cover the alteans healing the injured at the clinic they’d set aside for those who’d suffered under Sendak. And he made sure the coverage was favorable, and kind to the alteans – none of whom had any idea what to do with these strange humans asking them questions, other than to answer simply and honestly, which could have been disastrous if a reporter chose to be unscrupulous.

It was good news, and it was good news that was directly due to _helpful_ aliens. Adam milked it for all the coverage he could, consulting with Allura about how best to arrange things so that the altean alchemists would come off in the best way possible.

In between interviews, while Romelle was wide-eyed and twitching gently in a private little room guarded by three worried alchemists, Allura remarked, “We aren’t as...camera-friendly as humans seem to be. I thought Lance was odd, for taking to the Voltron Show as well as he did, but it seems that’s...just humans.”

Adam blinked at her. “Voltron Show?”

“Oh yes,” Allura nodded. “It was necessary, at first, to ...sell people on the idea of the coalition. A lot of worlds didn’t really believe we had a chance against Zarkon. So Coran put together some -” she stopped, realizing what Adam was getting at.

“And you didn’t think maybe that would help Earth get used to the idea?” Adam asked.

Krolia blinked. “We have the recordings that were broadcast. Coran seems to treasure them, in fact. Would you like to see them?”

“I would,” said Adam, perhaps too solemnly. Like he was trying very hard not to crack any kind of a smile whatsoever. “Tell me about this show. And put me in touch with Coran.”

“He’s on the castleship,” said Allura. “He’s maintaining our contact with the Empire and the Coalition, though I suppose he _could_ be spared, now that your crystal hub is working.” She turned an odd look on Krolia. “How do _you_ know about Coran having them?”

Krolia smiled. “Keith mentioned them to me,” she said. “Actually, most of the Blades are avid fans of the series, though admittedly because Keith is portrayed as a member. Who played his part, do you know?”

“That would be me,” sighed Allura. “Not one of my happier memories. So you...what? Tracked down Coran for copies?”

“Of course,” said Krolia. “I wanted to see them. Shiro was also curious.”

“Shiro...isn’t in them?” asked Adam, surprised.

“Well. We didn’t know he wasn’t Shiro, at the time,” said Allura. “It’s Ryou in the recordings.”

Adam blinked a few times. “Now I really _do_ need to see them. We may have to edit the footage, but this may save us a lot of effort.”

~*~

At the end of the day, the paladins and what was left of their teams regrouped at the castleship.

It had not gone particularly well.

Every team had lost at least one person – always one of the Garrison personnel, and generally because they weren’t taking the threat of a druid seriously enough. Pidge’s group had had it worst, with all her Garrison-assigned members dead except for Veronica and Griffin, and both of them had moderately serious wounds just from trying to keep their comrades alive. Veronica’s face bore burns from druid lightning down one side, and Griffin had one arm bandaged to immobility.

Griffin’s mood improved when he realized none of his own team had died – the only one uninjured was Kinkade, and that was because he’d stayed well back and focused on filming – but they were all _alive_ and that was the main thing. Veronica, on the other hand, was seething even while one of the altean alchemists worked on treating her burns.

“They didn’t want to listen to a ‘little girl’,” she snarled. “Pidge is an adult now, but they treated her like she was still a cadet. If they’d just been willing to _listen_ -”

Pidge’s green armor bore several burn marks too, but Pidge herself was uninjured. “You can’t fix stupid, Veronica,” she said tiredly. “We just have to hope Shiro’s team got good footage, so this doesn’t happen again.”

Kinkade was as tired as everyone else, but had his laptop and was already working on uploading his footage. “I thought when we set out this morning that I had an easy job,” he said. “Consider this my official apology for thinking that. Those druids are no joke.”

Hunk had already wandered off to start making food – his usual way of winding down after a mission. Rizavi’s uniform was missing half a sleeve, and she was being treated for lightning burns. Rizavi, too, looked exhausted. “I bet the commander’s going to want to use the footage for more than briefing videos. If you caught on film a _tenth_ of what I saw down there today, he could use it to mobilize every Garrison.”

“That was part of the idea,” said Shiro. He and Keith were both leaning on the other’s shoulder, bonelessly tired. Cosmo was draped across both of their laps. “Hope we didn’t ruin your angles, Kinkade.”

Kinkade was, to some degree, the object of everyone’s focus. The day had not been good. You couldn’t really...describe...druids in combat. It sounded crazy. You had to see it, and unfortunately if the first time you saw it was when a druid was trying to kill you, the odds were strongly in favor of that being the last thing you saw. The casualties of the day were testament enough to that. Griffin’s little team had survived mainly because they’d each learned to take the paladins seriously. Even when what the paladins were saying sounded insane.

Kinkade’s penchant for documenting everything on film might save a lot of lives. He was clearly aware of the pressure.

“...There’s not as much here that I can use as I’d hoped,” he admitted. “It was kind of dark and the druids my team faced were -” he stopped. “Wait. I don’t actually know if they _were_ nastier. Here. Let me show you guys first.” He started typing, realized he had no idea how to make his laptop interface with the castleship, and sheepishly said, “Uh. Pidge?”

“On it,” sighed Pidge tiredly, getting up to make the laptop speak altean on command. It took about fifteen minutes, during which time some of the people in the room started to doze, while the rest were kept awake by the tantalizing smell of Hunk’s post-battle cookfest. She didn’t let anyone sleep through anything important though. Once she’d gotten the laptop to talk to the castleship, she raised her voice: “HEY. Wake up. Input required! Let’s see what we’ve got so we don’t lose anyone else.”

She headed back to her seat while everyone else jumped, and Kinkade – now looking almost embarrassed – started playing the footage. “Don’t worry, I’ll skip to the good bits and edit out what isn’t needed later.”

At this point Hunk came in with trays of hot finger-foods and smiled. “Hey. My timing today is awesome. Eat up guys.”

For a while, everyone just ate the offered food and watched Kinkade’s footage. Shiro hadn’t been wrong; of the four teams, his own had been hardest hit and the druids had apparently been ordered to try capturing either Shiro or Keith first, and to kill either or both if that wasn’t feasible. No one, now, had any problem with Shiro and Keith being so visibly tired; they’d been defending themselves, each other, and their entire team almost non-stop. The miracle was that only one had died. The camera had several moments of whipping around wildly while Kinkade tried to guess where the attacking druids would reappear – then Kinkade learned to watch where Shiro, Keith or Cosmo were looking and aim the camera there.

“And there goes McPherson,” sighed Veronica, as one of the Garrison men assigned to Shiro’s team had his throat literally ripped out by a druid’s hand. “Never had a chance.”

“I know that guy,” frowned Griffin.

“McPherson?” asked Veronica. “He was one of the guys usually assigned to the west gate -”

“Not McPherson,” Griffin interrupted. “The _druid_. He’s wearing a colonel’s uniform. I know I’ve seen him around though. _He’s_ Garrison staff too.”

Paladins and company watched as everyone else took a renewed interest in more than the druids’ battle tactics. Pidge noted, “I can run facial recognition on them. I’ll get you the data, Kinkade.”

“It would make sense,” Shiro mused. “She discovered humans don’t show quintessence the way galra do. She could turn them and it wouldn’t be visible. It’d be a logical next step for her to take high level people to turn. She could take over entire governments and no one would know.”

“Adam will need to,” said Allura. “And he will need a copy of the full footage, unedited, as proof.” Her day alongside the human had been productive; she’d learned quite a bit about how humans made decisions. She frowned. “I will have to go with him as he presents this proof. Humans don’t seem to sense druids, but I can. We don’t want to try presenting this to another one of Haggar’s agents.”

“I hate to be the one to use the phrase, ma’am,” said Steve tiredly, cradling one bandaged arm, “But I’m gonna have to ‘not all humans’ you there. I can feel the druids, now I’ve spent more time in their company. Like a twisting in the stomach. The world doesn’t want them here.”

That got the attention of every other human in the room. Shiro and Keith both nodded agreement, then looked to see if anyone else had a similar reaction.

Matt was the only one to look troubled. “...I thought it was just indigestion,” he said slowly. “I mean, it may still be. I don’t want to go on the table as being some kind of mystic when it could just be ‘don’t have hot dogs before going into life and death battles’.”

Lance grinned. “Right. Okay. One and a half mystics, maybe. Still. It’s nice to know humans aren’t totally in the cold on the whole mystic forces thing.”

“I kind of think it’s not as rare as we’d want to think,” said Keith. “But it may be a lot more subtle than what alteans feel. Humans have spent a long time trying – and usually failing – to emphasize thought over feeling.”

“Case in point,” Shiro noted, “Is it druids, or indigestion? You’re going to want to test that, Matt. Could save your life.”

“Or have me throwing up all over the subterrain,” Matt pointed out.

“I think we’re getting off track here,” Allura interrupted. “Let’s finish with this footage. Pidge, the identification would be very helpful. Hunk, if you could perhaps rig cameras for all the teams? Perhaps arrange to record data from our paladin helmets? It might not be useful for training, but if Haggar is recruiting ranking humans for her new druids then we’ll need proof of it we can present. We’re unlikely to have bodies they can study.”

“Good call,” Shiro agreed.

“Yeah, I think me and Pidge can get something sorted out there,” Hunk mused. “Probably use the helmets’ ability to broadcast to the castleship. Set up recording here. But, and I want you guys to really listen to me, it’s gonna be _after_ I go see my family.”

“Right there with you,” Lance agreed. “I’ll hunt druids for the next week or however long it takes, but my family’s finally awake and I really want to see them.”

Shiro looked at Keith, possibly expecting an objection, but if there had been going to be one sheer exhaustion sent it packing. “We’ll have to rest before we go back out anyway,” he said instead, answering Shiro’s look. “We try going right back out and we’re all dead, Shiro. Give Kinkade and Pidge time to do their thing with the footage. The rest of us need time to rest and heal. Lance and Hunk can do their resting and healing with their families….probably easier than anywhere else.”

“True,” said Steve quietly, eyes half closed now. “Thought I knew my way around a fight, but you two were something to see.” Straightening painfully, he added, “Princess, I think Krolia’s going to want a copy of some of that footage.”

Allura gave him a bit of a puzzled look. “It can be arranged. Certainly while we’re making copies anyway. If I may suggest, the rest of you should do your resting and healing in either secure quarters or somewhere remote. Now that we know Haggar has turned Garrison officers to her cause, and _she_ knows we’re closing in, standard rooms on the base will not protect you. I offer my castleship to you all, and its medical pods, if you would be willing to use them.”


	22. The Past Folds Gently Into The Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They need time to process, to heal, and for Adam to get some new soldiers to come fight druids with them. So the paladins split up for a bit.
> 
> Gonna warn you, some of this might be a liiiiittle bit rough. Plot threads I didn't think I'd get time to address, turned out to just be biding their time.

They walked out together, after everyone else had left to find quarters or medical pods, and headed in a natural lockstep for their shared rooms.

“Does it feel like home, to you?” asked Keith, as the door closed behind them.

“Does what feel like home?” asked Shiro, already stripping off his clothes. He needed a shower and a week of sleep.

“Earth,” said Keith, leaning against the wall. He was tired too, but there was only so much room in the shower, and if actual ‘getting clean’ was to happen, it had to be one at a time.

Shiro had to think about it, even as he ran the water hot. “Not sure,” he admitted. “I keep expecting it to, but I’m ...I don’t know. Why?”

“Because...after all this is done, I don’t think I want to stay on Earth,” Keith admitted. “My memories here aren’t good ones, mostly. I mean, if you’re here I’ll stay. That’s not an issue; you mean a lot more to me than any planet does.”

“But you don’t want to ask me to leave if I still think of Earth as home, is that it?” Shiro finished for him, while rinsing off. “I’ll give it proper consideration, Keith. I can promise that much up front. I know...I know I need a break, when this is done. I don’t want to leave the paladins or anything like that, but I do want a break from the constant battles. I’d like to explore some of the options Pidge was suggesting, about maybe getting an actual flesh and blood arm back. I’d like to _explore_, if I can find anywhere that isn’t already charted.”

It was Keith’s turn to strip down, kicking the clothes off to one side so they wouldn’t be tripped on. He stepped in as Shiro stepped out, getting a casual swat on one cheek as he passed. “So you might not stay either?”

“I think for me the question is what I’d call home base,” Shiro admitted, toweling off. “This castleship feels like home, but ...I don’t know if we can call it _our_ home. I think we’d have to talk to Allura about that, even if we’re allowed to live here as long as we’re paladins. The Lions were scattered across the universe for a long time. There’s no reason Black couldn’t base on Earth, if things became peaceful enough that we could separate them widely again.”

Keith couldn’t quite rinse off as quickly as Shiro; his hair was getting much too long for that, and required specific attention. He rinsed it all out, combing out the knots. “You don’t have to leave Earth. I’ll stay wherever you are, go wherever you go.”

Shiro sighed. “You could do a lot more, you know.”

“Been there, done that, hated most of it,” Keith replied flatly. “It’s not worth it, without you. Trust me on this.”

Shiro shook his head wryly, and dragged a comb through his towel-tousled hair. “Well. At least Earth has a few mysteries left for you, if we do stay a while. Your father’s family, for example.”

“I suppose,” Keith conceded, turning off the water. He wrung out his hair before stepping out of the shower. “I’m sure I’ll find things worth doing. I have a few ideas, if it comes to that.”

Shiro tugged him in for a hug, nose in Keith’s hair for a moment. Damp and clean and thick. Getting to play with it was a privilege for himself alone, and he started combing through it with his fingers. “Care to share?”

“Was planning on telling the Coalition to come recruit Earth foster kids to pilot their patrol ships, for one,” said Keith. “A lot of them feel trapped, like there’s nowhere to go, no chance to be anything worthwhile. You saved me from that; maybe I can pay it forward. Out in the Coalition planets, where there’s no preconceptions of the human race, they could really start over.”

Shiro blinked. “...There’s some pretty violent kids in the system.”

“There’s some pretty violent aliens out there, too,” Keith replied bluntly. “They’ll have a chance to fight, if fighting’s really what they’re best at. There’s more than enough of that to go around, still. Probably for the whole of their lifetimes. They’d have a chance, Shiro. That’s more than they’ve got now.” Keith twisted in Shiro’s arms to look him in the eyes. “I’ll live wherever you live. I’ll go wherever you go. But I’m pretty much done worrying about humanity’s rules. The universe is bigger than that.”

~*~

Haggar sat in the seat her druids had made for her, a kind of dark throne that they’d quite possibly made themselves. Humans. Even when converted to her cause, there was still something..._human_ about them. Which in Haggar’s world meant ‘alien, incomprehensible, and possibly dangerous’. But it was somewhere to sit while she meditated, letting her mind drift along the strands of the web she’d woven.

Noting the strands already broken. Considering the tactics in play.

Humans made fairly good druids, once converted. Ingenious and ruthless. But they were, above all, _new_. They were mostly operating covertly at present, too, which meant they weren’t getting very much practice with their new abilities.

Haggar was trying to decide whether or not she should change that. She could, certainly. She had agents in many, many places now. She could destroy this world entirely with them. Destroy the whole human species, packed as it was entirely on this single rotten mudball. But she was not Sendak; she destroyed, but always with purpose, in service to a larger goal. There was promise in this species. She could make something useful out of them.

Provided she was given the time, and the broken strands suggested that might well be growing short. The paladins were willing to risk exile from their kind to take her out. She could pull some of the strands, possibly slow them down, but she knew her Champion and his wolves. It wouldn’t _stop_ them. She could make them pariahs among their own kind and it wouldn’t change the fact of the assault. She’d still lose a great many druids.

On the other hand, if she simply disappeared, she would be hunted. Haggar had faith in her ability to win a direct confrontation, but her druids were inexperienced.

“Macidus,” she rasped, not just with voice but along those myriad threads.

Soon enough her most able servant was bowing before her. “High Priestess.”

“Choose the most capable of the new servants and take them to the remaining colony in the cruiser,” said Haggar. “Use the surviving humans there as need requires. Take as many captives from this world as might be needed to supplement the colony.”

Macidus’ face was hidden behind the long, curved beak mask all druids wore, but she could hear the confusion. “To what end, high priestess?”

“The assault has begun before the new servants are fully trained,” said Haggar. “Take the best, the most worthy, and captives to feed and serve them. Turn the remaining colony into a citadel where they remain hidden, training until I call for you.”

“How will we hear you, High Priestess, from so far?” asked Macidus.

“I assure you,” rasped Haggar. “When I desire your return to this planet, you will hear my call. Now obey.”

“Your will, high priestess,” bowed Macidus, and backed out of her presence.

A few thousand humans would take days to be noticed as missing, Haggar knew. She was not interested in hostages, as Sendak had been. She knew which humans wouldn’t be missed. Her new servants had made that option clear to her. Humans to serve as slaves, and humans to be placed in quintessence-draining tanks to feed her children while they trained. There would be plenty of room for them in the one cruiser she had left to command. The best, the strongest, would have time to grow into their potential.

The rest...well. The paladins wanted a war in the tunnels. It would be uncouth to disappoint them.

~*~

Hunk did not remember getting to or into the Yellow Lion. Or giving it directions. Or getting out of it, or what had to have been a mad run for the elevators when he reached the hospital.

He only remembered, and was damn glad to remember, opening the doors to find his family awake, clustered together in what looked like spare scrubs, and the relieved and joyous smiles on their faces to see him. The arms opening to hug and to be hugged. Hunk did so as hard as he dared – everyone looked thinner, more fragile in every sense of the word, but they were alive and aware and it was a moment just as good as the first time he’d touched Yellow down on his home island and there they’d been.

He stayed that way, hugging and being hugged, murmuring nonsense words of relief and love, until his mother was tired enough to need to sit down, and it quickly became apparent she wasn’t the only one.

Lance, taking Red, had much the same experience – a blur of transition ending in being joyously mobbed by his entire family. When they needed to sit down, or lie down, he fussed over them – and when Hunk saw him getting everyone glasses of water, Hunk immediately said, “Oh we can do better than that,” and kidnapped Lance for a trip to the hospital kitchens.

Hunk had no problem, none at all, with taking control of the kitchen staff. Lance got handed fruits to put in a juicer while Hunk give directions to the bewildered staff – some of whom quickly got sent out for ingredients. “They’re too thin,” he said. “They need good food and I know just the stuff.”

“Yeah, but why am I squeezing fruit?” asked Lance – wise enough not to _stop_ doing it while he asked.

“Because they need the nutrients, and the sugars,” said Hunk, casually wielding a quite large chef’s knife on a cucumber in a way that would have made Keith pay attention. “And fresh squeezed is best.”

“You don’t have to bribe ‘em, you know,” said Lance, setting aside a demolished hemisphere. “They’re happy to see you. I saw it.”

“I know that,” said Hunk, almost shortly. A finely chopped salad was taking shape under his hands. “It’s you I needed to talk to.”

Lance paused in the act of shoving a fruit hemisphere down onto the juicer. “Uh?”

Hunk paused in his chopping and took a deep breath. “I realized it the moment I saw them. I’m not leaving Earth again, Lance. I’m done. We finish getting Haggar off this planet, and then I’m going _home_.”

Lance heard it in Hunk’s voice – the certainty, the raw _pain_ Hunk felt at the idea of ever losing his family again. And he understood. As much as he loved being a paladin – and he really did _love_ it, both Red and Blue were different kinds of awesome to fly – he understood. “...You want me to tell Shiro?”

“I’ll tell ‘em myself,” said Hunk, sadder now. “When it’s all done. I can’t stop while Haggar’s got the druids who _did_ this running around Earth, probably hurting other people we don’t even know. So it won’t matter until then. I just...needed to say it, I guess. Needed to hear myself say it. I don’t want to lose touch with you guys….but I don’t think I could go to the ass-end of the universe again. My family needs me. And...and I need them.”

Lance took a deep breath. “Yeah, well. I don’t think you’ll be alone on Earth. I love flying, and the Lions are awesome, but...you could maybe build ships here on Earth?” He paused. “Hey, that’s right. What about Shay?”

Hunk looked like he’d been punched. “I...I dunno,” he admitted. “I think my family’d like her. But I think she’s as much in love with her planet as I am with mine. She’ll explore, but...”

“Her balmera could come to our system?” Lance suggested. “When we’ve cleared out the druids. Then you could build ships that’d go back and forth. It’d be a short trip, just out to maybe the asteroid belt or something. She’d get to explore Earth and go home, and you could introduce your family...and Earth’s gonna want those crystals, so you could see to it Shay’s people got a good deal.”

“Yeah, cos humans have always been such good neighbors,” said Hunk sourly. “We’re the paladins of Voltron and they haven’t been too happy to see _us_. I dunno. I have to think about it. But I think Shay’d understand me wanting to stay home. She knows about home, and family.”

Some of the kitchen staff returned, with the ingredients Hunk had sent them for. He immediately set to work – handmade pasta, fried plantain, a host of dishes from his own island and from Lance’s, and a few of his own creation that were something of a fusion. Lance (along with everyone else) got sent here and there to handle minor steps in the process.

Lance mixed a batter that smelled nice but which he had no idea of its use, “We won’t let Earth get that bad. Adam’s on our side, right? And he’s got the Garrisons.”

“Who’s got the Garrisons?” asked a new voice that turned out to be Matt, following the smell of Hunk’s cooking. “Hunk. Lance. Figured you two’d get here first. Didn’t think you’d be in the kitchens _already_.”

Lance set down the batter to give Matt a hug. “Hey man. Come to check up on us, or your folks?”

“Bit of both,” Matt replied, hugging back. “Today was rough. Adam’s got his hands full. But I thought I’d check with Romelle, and the doctors, and see if maybe we can get _my_ parents up and about along with everyone else’s.”

“We were talking about staying here,” said Lance. “Once we’re done with Haggar.”

Matt looked wry. “I’m sure I’ll wind up in that talk too,” he said, as Hunk pointed him at some work scrubbing dishes. “But while I’m willing to bet that once we manage to get together we’ll stay that way, I don’t know that we’ll be staying on Earth. I’ve heard of a new joint colony the Olkari and Taujeerans are setting up that’d probably interest the whole family. We might go there. Catch up on the universal tech level.”

Lance blinked, looking a bit crestfallen. “Oh. Uh. Yeah. I guess that would be where you’d all want to go.”

Matt waved a soapy scrub brush at Lance, narrowly missing adding ‘suds’ to Lance’s mixing bowl. “Don’t even,” he warned. “If you honestly think my sister’s going to let a teludav sit right near her without figuring out how to make it work for humans, you do _not_ know her. It’ll be a short hop once she works that out. You haven’t gotten rid of me.”

“Good,” Lance replied, with a somewhat sheepish smile. “I was just getting used to you.”

Hunk looked between the two of them, shrugged, and got back to preparing his plates. As he finished them, staff were told where they were to go. “Thought you were both kinda into Allura.”

“Oh, we are,” shrugged Matt. “But Allura’s kind of got so much complex mess going on – do you guys even follow the news Coran’s been handing out? Word got out that Lotor’s thinking of asking to marry her and the Altean colonists officially put their foot down _hard_. Allura can be Queen, or she can marry Lotor, but not both. Anyway. She’s kind of our mutual hall pass.”

Lance and Hunk both stared at him. “We’ve...kinda been busy,” said Lance slowly. “They really said that? The alchemists are all _here_.”

“Yeah, and they’re a minority,” Matt reminded them. “And even they’re not hot on Lotor having any kind of authority over them again, I’ll bet you. Ask Romelle if you want. Allura has a lot of choices to make. ‘Who she wants to date’ is a big wasp’s nest.”

Hunk looked pensive. “Man. I want to go home so much. And everything kind of looks like I shouldn’t. Allura shouldn’t be on her own.”

“She has been, for a while now,” Matt pointed out. “Still is. We’re all in the tunnels and she’s working in the light, with the diplomats.”

The dishes were ready, and Hunk led his small army of assistants, with their laden trolleys, out to serve it. Lance, though, hung back. Matt had reminded him of...several things.

He seemed to know it, too. Matt waited until after Hunk was out of earshot to say, “It’s all right, you know. If you don’t want to tell them about me. I do get it.”

Lance came over to help Matt with the impressive amount of cleanup Hunk and the kitchen staff had left. “Do you? I saw them awake and alive and I swear the first thought I had was _I am never leaving home again_. But they’d sooner welcome Allura than a guy. I could have _kids_ with Allura.” The word was sour on Lance’s tongue.

Matt’s hands were soapy and wet, so he settled for a friendly headbutt. “My parents got shot before I could tell them half the species I’ve slept with, Lance. But I’m going to have to tell them, or it’s a sure bet Pidge will. I’m pretty sure I won’t get thrown out of the house over it, but,” he looked wry. “Let’s just say my sister comes by all her tendencies totally honestly. I’m not looking forward to ….kind of a lot of the conversations. And when they ask me why, and they _will_, I’m not sure they’ll understand ‘I was lonely’ is the only answer I can give.”

Lance could be dense, but he wasn’t stupid. He gave Matt a sidelong look. “You think that’s what I’d tell my folks? _I’m not really gay, I just wanted someone of my own species_?”

Matt faced him directly then, but not angrily. Sadly, possibly, but accepting. “I’d understand if that’s all it was. It’s how it started, after all. It’s how it’s been. Seriously, Lance. You telling me that if we, as in you and me, wandered off to a great nude beach I know about in southern Italy, you’d spend all your time with _me_?”

That...gave Lance pause. He’d genuinely never thought about it. He’d tried to be the player, obviously, before...before the Lions, before _everything_. But it felt like such a lifetime or three ago. He returned to Earth a veteran and a hero. He could, probably, have an actual orgy with actual human women, if he went looking – although the idea of having the _time_ right now was laughable. He’d always loved looking at the ladies and that hadn’t changed. But…

But.

Not one of them would be someone he could just talk to. None of them would have seen Earth from space, or been so far out into the universe that the Sun wasn’t even a star in the night sky. None of them would believe his stories about mermaids, or killer plants, or space pirates. They’d just be amusing anecdotes, nothing really real.

Lance remembered, what seemed a lifetime ago, the night they’d rescued Shiro from the Garrison. The look on Shiro’s face when he’d finally woken up, laid out on the couch in Keith’s beat up shack, looking at the ceiling like he’d forgotten what humans were and was having to dredge up ‘what you do when guesting in a human’s house’ from the deepest depths of memory.

At the time, he’d just thought Shiro was groggy. He thought, maybe, he might be understanding that feeling a bit better now.

Matt had gone back to scrubbing dishes while Lance thought. He didn’t seem to be frustrated or angry, or even depressed or sad. Just very quiet.

“Answer this for me,” Lance said quietly. “Same nude beach. Would you want to hang with _me_, or go talk to the girls?”

“Believe it or not, I’m not really a charmer,” said Matt, setting a dripping bowl on a rack. “I make connections. Or try to. That’s all it’s ever been about. Making a connection, even if it’s temporary.” He looked wry. “You’ve seen me try to charm the ladies, Lance. I think Allura wanted to duck behind a couch.”

“Hey, the first thing she said to _me_ was my ears are hideous,” Lance replied with a little smile. “You might’ve made the better impression, there.” He took a deep breath. “Look. I don’t have an answer for you right now. I definitely don’t have one for my folks. But I can tell you I’m not just a temporary connection. _You’re_ not just a temporary connection. And I’ll give everything else all the thinking I can when we’ve sorted out Haggar. Okay?”

“Sure, man,” said Matt. Then turned a little smile on Lance that was at least as nefarious as anything his sister might sport. “So I should talk to Veronica meantime?”

He was joking, and Lance _knew_ he was joking, but there was still a knee-jerk ‘must protect sister’s virtue’ that nearly got Matt brained with a dripping wet pan. “You do that,” Lance managed to reply evenly. “Just do it where I can see, because Veronica’s older than me and I have seen her fight.”

~*~

Macidus approached Haggar with the particular deep reverence he tended to use when he was dropping in on her without an express request on her part. “High Priestess,” he began – which meant whatever it was he wanted, he thought it was important enough that he would not wait until she deigned to notice him. He wanted her attention and was willing to risk punishment for it.

Haggar glanced to Macidus, and noticed another druid was standing behind him. Had this one failed its task in some way? It would need to be an egregious mistake for Macidus to bring it to Haggar’s attention, rather than simply handle the disciplining himself. “Speak,” she permitted.

Macidus bowed again. “I have, as you instructed, been gathering the newest druids for transport. In the course of which this one refused to depart as ordered.” He gestured toward the other druid.

Haggar turned her attention back on Macidus, though. That was simple disobedience. Macidus had more than enough seniority to deal with such a minor matter. So there was some larger point; her servant was experienced enough to know better.

“High Priestess,” said Macidus softly. “This one has knowledge of the Paladins that you may find desirable. He has studied the Red Paladin for decaphoebs. And the Black.”

_Ahhh._ Now Haggar understood why Macidus had been so eager to get her attention. She turned her quintessence-shining eyes on the new druid. Human, as all the new ones were, he wore his druid robes over what was presumably his usual human clothes. “You may go, Macidus,” she said. “I will deal with this matter. Continue your task.”

“Your will, High Priestess,” bowed Macidus, and departed. She liked that about him. He didn’t – as a general rule, at least – ask for more than she chose to offer. He was loyal, and intelligent.

This new druid had refused her order and offered information. Perhaps he was intelligent and loyal. Perhaps the conditioning was not complete. She would need to be certain. “Kneel,” she ordered.

The druid fell to his knees with an audible crack; he hadn’t hesitated, and the floor was stone. But the expression under the hood, what she could see of it, didn’t change.

“Open your mind,” Haggar commanded, approaching.

She felt his obedience; the lowering of mental barriers, allowing Haggar to see the whole of this druid’s life, before and after conversion.

This one had been a Garrison officer for many years. Haggar picked through his memories as one might flip through a movie collection, looking for specific kinds of events.

One night, there had been a meteor shower. One of the meteors had not behaved as was typical for falling, burning stone. He had traced the trajectory to a point of impact...

~*~

Matt sat alone by the medical pods. Pidge was busy with her programming, and while he’d have liked to help with that, there was a kind of necessary division of labor between them. Pidge couldn’t focus if she was worried about their parents, and she was the better programmer of the two of them. (Not by all that _much_, but still.) So Matt had come, and...had that really depressing chat with Lance, and now had the rather more depressing job of checking over the pods, because the doctors couldn’t.

Everything was working as it should. The alteans said it was up to the humans within to decide to wake up. And there wasn’t any reason why Sam and Colleen Holt were still so ...still. At least, there didn’t seem to be. After Matt had read aloud every remotely interesting bit of news that Coran forwarded, he pulled a doctor away from the ongoing Blue And Yellow Paladin Reunion Fest. He hadn’t yet learned all their names, and two thirds of the time they just seemed to follow an alchemist around with an expression of bewilderment anyway. But Matt needed a non-magical answer and alteans were not good at those.

“Why won’t they wake up?” he demanded.

The doctor blinked at him. “We have no idea,” he said, surprised even to be asked. “This medical pod technology is amazing, but we have no real idea what it’s doing or how it works. In strict fairness, Mr. Holt, your parents should be dead. The internal damage, the blood loss, the sheer _shock _at their age – they should have died. We don’t know why they’re not, any more than we know why they’re not awake.”

Matt frowned. “Wait...so...nobody walked you through that? I mean, how the pods work?”

The doctor shrugged. “We’re not exactly mechanics, Mr. Holt. Your friend in yellow walked us through the mechanics, so we know the machines are working properly...we just don’t know what they’re _doing_, and no one’s been willing to tell us. Without that, I couldn’t begin to guess what’s actually going on in your parents’ bodies.”

For about ten seconds, Matt had a very hard time being zen and calm. It was such a simple, stupid thing for people to forget – but as he thought about it, he realized that very likely, nobody knew. The altean alchemists had been farmers and crafters until Allura brought them all to Oriande. They could probably discuss the magic all afternoon – but how would they know the medicine? And Hunk and Pidge knew _how_ the pods worked but not _what they did_, not on the medical level.

Matt really wished his mother weren’t _in_ the pod. She’d be great to have around to explain all this stuff to people. Matt wasn’t a medical doctor either, although he’d done the best he could at times, and hadn’t died yet. “...Okay,” he said slowly. “I can read all the dials. Can you?”

The doctor gave a very, very patient headshake.

“Okay,” said Matt. “Grab a notepad. I’m going to start telling you what all the readouts say, and I can absolutely translate the measurements to Earth metric. If I do that, will that help?”

“Possibly,” said the doctor, in a tone that said he was well aware Matt was simplifying those matters which were within his field, and the doctor was choosing to return the favor. “Can the medical pod provide brain scans? X-rays? Biopsies?”

“Well, the good thing here is, where it can’t it doesn’t need to because it probably does something better,” said Matt. “Get that notepad. And anyone you don’t want to have to explain things to later, who’s fine with missing Hunk’s cooking. I’ve spent the past several dec- years, translating Earth to a bunch of species I didn’t know existed before I met them. About time I tried it in reverse.”

~*~

Keith tended to spend time alone when it was official ‘downtime’. The paladins dispersed to their separate projects and concerns – the first of which he couldn’t help with, the second of which weren’t any of his business. Shiro always used downtime to plan for the next round , which he was doing now; Keith felt that as awkward as Shiro spending time with Adam was, his own presence would just make it worse. There was just too much…._story_, between when Adam had last known them and now, and none of it was particularly relevant to the job at hand.

Besides. Keith had Cosmo, and Shiro was quite literally only a thought away at any moment. So while Shiro was busy strategizing (and, Keith told himself, it wasn’t that Keith had no interest in leadership or Shiro’s plans; it was just that Keith didn’t like overthinking things. He tended to work best from a quick, gut level response to situations, and Shiro’s meetings only frustrated him) Keith took Cosmo hunting, showing the wolf places in his memory that might have good game. It had been quite some time since he’d gotten to spend quality hours with Cosmo. The wolf was good company, intelligent but not prone to prying, and just as protective of Shiro as Keith was.

The agreement was, though, that whatever Keith chose to do with his days, he reunited with Shiro for dinner at sunset. Since Shiro was wolfless for the day and hanging with Adam, Keith chose to wash the day’s exertions off in his assigned Garrison quarters. He didn’t like sleeping there – it felt too open, too insecure, and somehow like living in a slice of the past he didn’t really like in the first place – but it could house a change of clothing and basic self-cleaning materials. Keith even, politely, washed off Cosmo; the wolfy scent could get overpowering in the narrow Garrison corridors.

His hair was long enough to braid, so while it was damp, Keith did so; a braid over one shoulder, to keep the wind from blowing it in his face.

He opened the door of his quarters to join Shiro, and stopped. There was a box by his door. A simple cardboard box, the four flaps folded around each other to close it.

Keith’s wariness caught Cosmo’s attention; the wolf padded over to the box and sniffed it. _Druid._ The wolf’s fangs bared.

“Danger?” asked Keith softly. Could be a bomb. Narrow corridors would control the blast. Or drop the building on him.

Cosmo shook his shaggy head. _No explosives._

A message then. A message...from a druid. That couldn’t possibly be good.

Keith looked up and down the corridor, but the occupants of the other rooms had either already gone to the mess hall for dinner, or decided their studies took precedence. The corridor was empty. He picked up the box and brought it into the room, closing the door.

He didn’t _sense_ any magic about it. Keith looked to Cosmo, and got a soft _whuff_ of approval; the wolf didn’t sense any magic either.

Not a chemical bomb, not a magical bomb. Keith drew his Blade, and used it to carefully unfold the cardboard flaps to peer inside the box.

No card, no note, no packing material. Inside the box was a small, lavender stuffed hippo. The sort of understuffed toy given to children young enough to try anything with anything. The texture of its pale purple fur was _incredibly_ soft. Keith stroked it once, and picked it up. Something in the back of his mind was screaming for his attention, something small and terrified.

He couldn’t have said why, but Keith held the little toy to his nose. There was a scent...familiar, but nothing he could name.

And then the need to vomit up everything he’d eaten in the past ten years rose up so powerfully he barely made it to the bathroom in time.


	23. Picture a noose, loose about the neck, just starting to tighten.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1) If you're still reading this, I honor you and thank you.  
2) So help me this is the last time I'm writing anybody losing their temper enough to take a swing.   
3) I hate that this chapter took so long. I'm sorry about that.

Shiro was trying, with the kind of politeness that had been drilled into him by an aging Japanese grandmother, not to throttle Adam. Mostly, he was accomplishing this by comparing most things Adam had to say, to spending the same amount of time around Slav. So far Adam wasn’t _that_ bad – just a lot more personal.

It had started about where Shiro expected it to. Meeting up with Adam to discuss the next move, and as soon as they were alone: “So...Keith, huh?”

Shiro settled for a flat, “Yes.” And then switching immediately to, “I haven’t seen these Voltron Show tapes, by the way.”

“Right here,” said Adam, indicating a small box of discs. “I’ve got some Hollywood directors looking to use this as source material, so we’ve got to at least make certain there’s nothing deeply embarrassing in them first.”

“No way of avoiding that,” sighed Shiro. “I _have_ heard Lance gush about them. Apparently he had a secret yearning to join the circus.”

Adam slanted a look at Shiro. “You mean he didn’t?” At Shiro’s affronted expression, he shrugged. “You have to realize how your little group looks to normal people, Shiro. Or have you been in space so long you’ve forgotten? They’re still basically kids. And now, all of them are Garrison washouts.”

“They’ve had more field training for the current problems than anyone on this planet,” Shiro replied flatly. “And they’re not kids anymore. Even Pidge is over eighteen. Spin it that way.”

“Maybe so, but her birth certificate thinks she’s a minor.” Adam took a disc off the top of the pile and fed it into the bizarre mechanical amalgamation Pidge had created to make intergalactic tech talk with Garrison computers. He sat down to watch, and Shiro sat down next to him. “This is….wow,” Adam said, after about four minutes.

Shiro was trying not to facepalm. “I have never pitied the clone more than right now. I don’t even want to _know_ how Coran talked him into this.”

“Ryou,” said Adam. “Give him his own name, at least.”

It was Shiro’s turn to slant a look at Adam. “Did you and he…?”

“No.” Firm. Quick, too. Then Adam sighed. “I might have considered it, after a while. He really wasn’t you, you know. Looked like you, sounded like you. After about an hour in his company though, no one doubted the ‘identical twin’ defense. He was his own person. And he loved Earth.”

The implication being that Adam thought Shiro _didn’t_. Which...might be accurate, actually. Shiro thought about Keith’s comments, and about his own feelings. The Garrison had betrayed him, more than once. It had betrayed Keith, too. Adam being in charge of it now just seemed to highlight the ‘uncomfortable ex you had to work with’ vibe. But did that mean he didn’t love Earth?

“So...that’s _not_ Keith,” said Adam slowly, and Shiro had to pay attention to the screen again.

“No that’s Allura. Keith had gone with the Blades.”

“Not very good at sticking things out, is he,” Adam remarked.

_Polite. Be __**polite**__. _“The cl- Ryou had differences with Keith,” he replied with forced calm courtesy. “Keith left the team to avoid causing a permanent fracture.”

“Ever the troublemaking rebel,” said Adam mildly.

_Grandma, if I punch this man in the face, I don’t want to hear one word from you about it the next time I leave an offering at the shrine._ His grandmother had been dead for several years, but after all Shiro had seen and experienced, he wasn’t about to rule out someone like his grandmother opting to stick around afterward. “Adam, this is getting tiresome. Just spit it out. Let’s finish this, so we can get on with something that is actually important.”

Adam reached over and paused the recording. “Fine, then. You take in, let’s be honest here, a half-feral _child_. Put your own reputation on the line to sponsor him for the Garrison. You don’t pay the least amount of attention to the effect you’re having on the kid, how overtly he idolizes you, that you aren’t _reforming_ him, you’re _taming_ him. Then you go off on what is, let’s be quite clear, a suicide mission. I’m willing to bet you didn’t think two seconds about what that did to the boy you left behind or what the fallout would be. Which was that your half-feral, partially-tamed wild animal of a foster went _berserk_ without you around to put the brakes on. And then you return, raving about alien invasions, and disappear again – in his company - hours later, before anyone can make any sense of anything you’ve said. And that’s it until Ryou arrives, and we find out about the war, and that the children you’ve taken with you aren’t dead. Ryou stayed and explained things. Ryou got this planet as ready as he could for the Galra to come knocking. I really wish he’d lived to see you lot come back. He understood actual discipline, Shiro, not the veneer you like to pretend to for photo ops. Did you even wait until Keith had finished growing up to sleep with him, or did you just wait until the law couldn’t reach you?”

It was only the tiniest vestige of Shiro’s self control that caused him to clock Adam with his flesh and blood fist, and not the metal one. The punch was still hard enough to knock Adam to the ground and daze him. Shiro’s fingers flexed; the Champion, for just a moment, wanted to pick his opponent up and throttle him until there was no more breath for words.

Thankfully Adam _was_ dazed by the punch; it took Shiro several seconds to remind himself this was not the gladiatorial arena. This was someone he’d loved, who had loved him. Loved him enough to be deeply hurt by his departure, and to be envious of his replacement. And sheltered enough not to know or understand just what it meant, these days, to be this provoking. Adam didn’t _know_. He didn’t know about the arena. About the Champion. Adam’s experience of war had been quite brief. He didn’t have any way to understand what the Paladins had experienced. What Shiro himself had experienced. Things like being tortured, injected with tainted quintessence, having one’s arm ripped off and a cybernetic one added while you were awake and screaming, being made to fight to the death against beings you’d never even imagined before. Things like war between stars in the dark of space. Adam. Didn’t. Know.

No one on this planet did. And punching someone – anyone, but especially someone he’d once meant to marry – because he made an entirely logical if unpleasant accusation, was Not Who He Was. Shiro wrestled back control of himself. He’d never been good at talking about himself. The gulf was now impossibly wide; another thing Adam didn’t know.

The situation still needed dealing with. Shiro made a choice.

“I’m sorry that my choice to go on the Kerberos mission hurt you this much,” Shiro said, voice tight and rigidly controlled. “You never did understand that I never aimed to live a long life – just a full one. I didn’t _want_ to grow old in a mere ten years, dying strapped to a chair I couldn’t move on my own before I was thirty. Not even with someone I loved taking care of me. You never understood how much _worse_ that would have made it. To be a burden on those I cared about. I wanted to die on my own terms. And I wanted to live every moment I had to its fullest. If the Kerberos mission had gone off without a hitch I would still have died knowing I’d gone farther than anyone else in human history. I’d have _done something_ with my time. I didn’t think I had a choice about leaving you, or Keith. Just the manner of that leaving, and at the time, I wanted you to remember me as someone alive and strong and not withered and helpless. I knew Keith respected you, because I’d chosen you. I hoped that you’d help him after I was gone.” No need to elaborate on how stupid _that_ idea had been.

Shiro took a deep breath. “Nothing’s gone how either of us ever hoped or planned. I made my choices. You made yours. The consequences include you _not_ having a right to any explanations from me, or from Keith. You don’t approve of us? I suppose that’s your right. We have work to do. A planet to make safe. If you can be _professional_ about it, I will see to it that I and my team are the same. And when we’ve finished – when the druids are gone, and Earth can choose its course without interference – if you want, we’ll go. Until then, you can refrain from accusing me of being a child molester, and you can refrain from accusing Keith of _anything_, and we in turn will refrain from broadcasting how the Garrison betrayed not just us, but the safety of this entire _planet_ in order to protect its own image.”

Adam, from his new position on the floor, tentatively felt his face where Shiro had hit him. “You’ve changed,” he said. The words carried a few hundred unsaid ones with them.

“Adam, you just accused me of grooming a ..._pet_,” Shiro replied levelly. “I’d like you to ask yourself what you’d do in that circumstance.”

It wasn’t _the_ most convincing argument, but it got the point across. Adam got up, rubbing at his jaw. “You might be under arrest, later,” he remarked calmly.

“That would be a particularly bad idea,” said Allura, from the doorway. Her demeanor was chilly; she’d apparently seen the punch and was re-evaluating Adam from the ground up with that context. “Commander, to you these people are children, you say. Failed students? To the entire rest of the universe, they are heroes. Saviors. As to a relationship between Shiro and Keith...” she paused, thinking about her words. “It is not my place to discuss with a human the particulars of human law and custom. If they are in violation of these, however, I would suggest Earth exile them rather than attempt to punish them in any more overt manner. Your planet is small and isolated and not very strong. You need allies; acting against the Paladins of Voltron is not, I wish to inform you, a good way to acquire them.”

Turning to Shiro, Allura continued, “This man is a leading figure of this planet. And you are the Black Paladin.” That was all; she clearly felt no need to elaborate. And she was likely correct, because Shiro turned scarlet, closing his eyes as if she’d just caught him dancing naked with a lampshade.

Allura looked between the two men, practically radiating royal authority, until both Adam and Shiro remembered to be proper civilized adults, straightened up, and nodded to her. When she was satisfied with what she saw, she said, “Now. We have a lot of footage to go over. And the commander was telling me about the human entertainment industry and how it might assist us in getting the word out. Shall we begin?”

~*~

Once they’d gotten started, the hours sped by. Matt understood what the medical pod was _saying_, in terms of the readouts it offered, and could translate those to English for the doctors. The doctors , in turn, knew what the machines _meant_. The medical pod was trying to treat a species it wasn’t entirely calibrated for – oh, it could heal a lot, but it didn’t quite have the breadth of knowledge it needed to solve everything. The doctors had the entire Holt medical history, and every test they needed to do to narrow it down, the pod could perform.

Matt tried not to be too hopeful. There was an _awful_ lot of translating going on, between the pod and the doctors and Matt. Any error could mean a lot of trouble. He buckled down, therefore, made sure he understood what the doctors were asking for, and that he was reading the dials and meters correctly before answering.

Time, therefore, wasn’t really on Matt’s mind as a consideration. Only results.

He took heart, though, that the readouts were starting to shade from yellow into green.

~*~

Lance felt like his heart wanted to burst out of his chest. Like if he started crying, it would be weeks before he stopped. The whole family together – and like _this_. Veronica was the same; she took leave from the Garrison via the blunt method of telling them she was _going_ to see her family, and if they didn’t want her back afterward, so be it.

Lance was deeply proud of his sister. He felt exactly the same, but the fight wasn’t over yet. The druids needed to be stopped from ever doing this again; Hunk was right.

It was weird, though, to find out he was hardly the only McClain to find Alteans hugely attractive. Marco had already tried flirting with Romelle, which had resulted in Marco being quizzically stared at until he gave up. Lance did his elder brother the favor of _not_ explaining what he’d been doing. Marco was in no shape to handle even an Altean baby-slap, never mind the face-smacking resulting from an insulted, full grown Altean woman.

And then there was his father. His father was several degrees worse than Marco, because rather than flirting on his own behalf, he kept trying to set the female alchemists up with Lance. “He is a quiet boy, but he works very hard.”

The alteans didn’t understand this any more than they understood Marco’s flirting. They knew Lance. They were honored to work with the Blue Paladin. Once or twice, one of them answered something to the effect of ‘yes, we have had sex, it was pleasant’, which was ranking pretty high on Lance’s current list of ‘most embarrassing things to have your parents hear and then pass judgment on’. His father was _proud_. So proud. Lance, the interstellar lover. _His_ son.

Lance, of the red-hot-burning-cheeks. Lance of the wanting-to-sink-through-the-floor.

Lance the very, very relieved his father didn’t even think of asking the _male_ alteans to date his son. Because several would give him the same answer, and at that point …

Admittedly, Lance wasn’t sure what would happen then. What was more confusing, though, was being entirely unsure of what he _wanted_ to have happen. If he wanted it to be _that_ way – something they just discovered, not something he told his parents himself. At least it’d be done, though. The ice, as it were, would be broken.

He got one of his sisters a glass of ice water, while his father boasted of his son, Earth’s Greatest Lover, and didn’t notice his mother watching him thoughtfully.

~*~

Keith wasn’t _entirely_ sure how long it took to get himself back together. Cosmo stayed with him, nuzzling his face and occasionally licking – which, yes, gross, but under the circumstances Keith really didn’t care. He sat on the bathroom floor, and let Cosmo lick his face, and...sat still while the world around him seemed to spin and solidify, dropping itself into bricks on what had been an outline of a world.

He remembered the hippo.

_Keith was small, so small, and the present was so big. Big presents were best. _

_He’d seen his father in abyssal flashback and knew, now, what he looked like, but in the memory it was just big arms, soft flannel shirt, and a scent of woodsmoke and sage, picking him up for a hug and a kiss before settling him on a denim-clad lap with the present. “It’s your birthday. You want the present before the cake?”_

_Of course he wanted the present before the cake. The present was BIG and unknown and brightly wrapped. He reached for it eagerly, grabbing at it. He saw his father’s arm scoot it a bit closer, within reach of his comparatively tiny hands. Keith needed no further urging, he ripped right in._

_And stared, frowning, at the purple...thing. “What is it?”_

“_It’s a hippo,” said his father, maybe a little sad that Keith didn’t immediately hug the toy. _

“_It’s for _babies_,” Keith snapped, and swatted it away. “I’m not a baby!” He clambered off his father’s lap, looking for a better present. Or cake. _

_His father knew about his temper. He let Keith be, and let him stalk about pointedly and sulk loudly, and just...waited. He kept the hippo toy on his lap, petting it thoughtfully. Eventually Keith calmed down again, and they had cake, and watched cartoons until bedtime. _

_When his father came to tuck him in, he brought the hippo toy. “I’m sorry you don’t like it,” he said. “I’ll bring you a better gift, next year.”_

“_Why’d you bring me a _hippo_, anyway?” Keith demanded, a bit of the earlier sulk returning. “What even is a hippo?”_

_He remembered the way his father smiled at the toy. “They’re quiet, usually,” he said. “And big, and they live by rivers. If you let them be, they won’t bother you, but when they’re angry they shake the earth.” _

_Keith, the child, did not understand the wistful tone in his father’s voice. Not even when he set the purple toy next to Keith. “It reminded me of your mother. I ...guess you don’t remember her, now.”_

_Keith frowned at the toy. It didn’t look anything like a mother. “...Mom? Is she coming back?”_

_His father tucked him in, with the hippo on his pillow, and kissed Keith’s forehead. “I promise, your mother loves you, and someday she’ll come back.”_

That was two months before the fire. The social workers had given him only a few hours to pack a suitcase, and he’d spent most of it trying to find the best way to hide the knife in the lining. He’d taken the toy as the last present his father had given him, feeling guilty over the way he’d been angry.

Sitting on the floor of the bathroom, he petted Cosmo until the wolf understood he was okay now. At least, as okay as he was likely to be. He felt a lot more _himself_ than he’d felt in quite some time, anchored. This wasn’t a dream, and it wasn’t a different reality. He was exactly where he was supposed to be.

The hippo was a message. He’d need to talk to Shiro. And Krolia.

~*~

It was Hunk who decided enough was enough, and made a paladin dinner, and then decided there was enough for three. Matt was easy to find, neck deep in clipboards and doctors studying him and his parents’ medical pods very intently, and Hunk didn’t bother trying to argue – he just snagged Matt by the very startled ponytail and started tugging. Matt stopped asking what the hell once he smelled food, and sat down entirely willingly to eat it.

Hunk was kinder to Lance, opting to avoid another round of protesting what-the-hells by bringing a plate of food up and letting Lance get a noseful. Lance followed completely willingly to where the rest of the food was waiting.

Hunk did not object to cooking for his family, but they needed rest too. So did Lance’s. And Matt was no good to his parents if he wasn’t rested enough to think straight. So, he laid plates of food down, and a good red wine.

Matt studied his glass thoughtfully. “Remind me again if you two are old enough to drink in this country?”

“I’m old enough to have been repeatedly shot at for this planet,” said Lance flatly. “I will drink whatever I want.” He sampled the wine. “...You know, nunvil tastes better.”

“Nobody asked to see ID,” shrugged Hunk. “It goes well with the pasta though.”

“It does,” said Matt, still turning the glass in his fingers. “I...think I was a whole different person, the last time I had any. I was going to ask if you two felt the same, but -”

“Cadets, yeah,” Hunk nodded, digging in. “It does feel like a lifetime ago.”

“Or two,” Lance agreed.

The three of them, and Hunk’s cooking, were in an otherwise unoccupied room for now. It had been a completely different world, the last time any of them had had the chance to sit down to a dinner of all-Earth food and drink. It sank in, while they ate. Just how much had changed, how much would never, ever, go back to the way it had been before.

Hunk broke the silence. “You making progress, Matt?”

Matt coughed, took a swallow from his wineglass. “Uh. Yeah. I’m – I’m gonna call Pidge in, after this. She’d skin me if she missed them waking up. How about you two?”

Lance blinked. “They’re better now?” he asked. “That’s great news. My family’s...uh. Very huggy. I mean. Much more than usual. My brothers are mostly trying and failing to pretend being stuck in nightmares was no big and it’s not flying. I may ask the doctors if they can stay another week or two. I haven’t even gotten to the part where Cuba’s...” he made a face.

“Yeah,” Hunk nodded. “They’re not gonna like finding out that part. My family’s pretty good. I mean. We’re a pro-hug lot to start with, you know. I’ll be fine with the doctors clearing them once they’re medically up to spending hours in a kitchen, because that’s what will happen right after they get home. Big, big feast. Big bonfires. Lots of ‘very glad to be alive and together’ stuff.”

Matt and Lance both stared at Hunk. “I have to say I like how your family thinks,” said Matt, and Lance nodded.

Hunk blinked. “What. You guys don’t hug anything out? Really?”

“My family can be old-fashioned,” said Lance, a bit carefully.

Hunk’s stare got more direct and pointed. “This is about you two,” he said, in a ‘confirm my guess’ tone. They shared a look and then nodded. “Okay. Is it about the – the consent thing? Or something else?”

“While I’m going to thank you for not saying _accused rapist_,” Matt drawled, “_the consent thing_ isn’t really an improvement.” He gestured toward Lance’s face which was turning a dark shade of red.

“I’m _sorry_,” said Lance, putting his face in his hands. “”They’re old fashioned. I don’t know how to tell them I’m dating a guy.”

“I’m dating an alien,” shrugged Hunk. “So is Shiro, when you get down to it.”

“Keith is only technically an alien,” snapped Lance. “Being a jerk doesn’t make you more of an alien. And also neither of you have to explain that to _my_ parents.”

Hunk now looked like he’d been asked to incorporate a baby squirrel into a ship schematic. “I could? I mean. If that’s what the hangup is.”

“No, I really don’t think that’s gonna help,” said Lance, in the slow tone of one who was still forced to imagine that scenario playing out in a personal nightmare cinema.

Matt sighed. “I think you’re getting overly worked up. I mean. They’ve been abducted by aliens and tortured in space and they’re about to find out their entire home country is mostly rubble. Do you really think they’ve got anything left to spare for ‘my lover has a dick’? You’re alive, and well, and kicking the asses of the aliens that did this to them. Restricting your love life to ‘must be at least a B-cup’ seems...” he waved a fork.

Hunk reached over to pat Lance’s non-fork-holding hand. “They’re your _family_. And a few days ago we weren’t sure we’d even get them back at all. I can tell the problem’s bothering you, and I guess I can’t help you with that. But under the circumstances...I’d call it a good problem to have, you know? Compared to pretty much all the other possible problems?”

Lance exhaled. “Yeah. There is that. And I can tell them Matt’s helping with the whole asskicking thing.”

“Generous of you,” Matt grinned. “We haven’t had much luck yet.”

“I’ll consider it an IOU,” said Lance, taking a deep breath. “Hunk, you’re right. Perspective. Good thing to have.”

“And maybe a better red wine next time,” mused Hunk, finishing his glass.

~*~

Keith found Shiro in a presentation room with Adam, Allura, and Krolia. The media screen was showing one of the Voltron Show ice capades, with subtitles in English. The room had that particular quality of solemn quiet that classrooms have for about ten minutes after a teacher completely loses all composure and starts cracking down hard. It didn’t take much to piece it together; Adam was already sporting a bruised face, and Allura was sitting in the prim manner she tended to unconsciously adopt when she was Remembering She Was A Princess Goddamnit.

Keith paused in the doorway. Something had Gone Down. And he was holding a stuffed hippo. There was something decidedly ...not-intelligent, about strolling blithely in.

Unfortunately, his mother had very good ears. One twitched, and Krolia turned to smile at Keith. “This is truly remarkable,” she said. “I can see why it was such an effective morale booster for the Coalition forces. And you didn’t have to attend yourself. Well done.” She paused, noting the stuffed purple fluffy hippo clutched in Keith’s hand. “What is that?”

The question got the attention of the others, such that Shiro paused the playback so everyone could see what Krolia was talking about.

From the puzzled looks on their faces, nobody else could figure out what was going on, either, though Shiro could tell Keith was upset about something, and Adam had the reserved sour expression of someone in a comedy skit waiting to be hit with the second pie in the face.

Keith looked down at the stuffed animal. How did you even begin, really?

He opted for utter truthfulness. “It’s a message from Haggar. Cosmo could tell it was sent by the druids. It means Haggar knows my history. I think she intends to use it somehow.”

Krolia got up, then, to pluck the toy from Keith’s hands. The hippo was the exact shade of purple as her skin. “This...you must have been very small, for this to be the clue? Is this not a thing one gives to very little children?”

“Dad gave it to me,” Keith told her, and watched her try not to flinch or clutch at the object. “For my birthday….the last birthday. He said it reminded him of you.”

Krolia found the comment puzzling, clearly, and at the same time her fingers sank into its soft plush. Her mate had been thinking of her. All the way until his death. It took a near-visible act of will for her to loosen her grip. Pay attention to the situation at hand, and not the reminder. “But...not you,” she said slowly. “You were too young. So this is not...druids connecting you and I.”

“No.” Keith took a deep breath. “I lost this hippo in the house of the first human I killed.”

~*~

“This. Is. _Boring_,” complained Ezor, for the seven hundredth time. “We’re dozens of light years from the human planet! Why would Sendak send slaves this far out?”

It was a good question, Acxa had to concede. Unless he’d just wanted to make the humans feel the loss of a thousand or so of their kin. But there were so _many_ humans it didn’t seem likely they’d really miss a thousand or three. No, there had to be something else. Some other reason. Sendak’s scouts _had_ been this far out; they had chemtrails that indicated the passage of galra ships in the recent past.

What was Sendak _doing_? What did he want those humans for?

Acxa sent the scan data back by crystal relay to Lotor, every quintant. Lotor was older, and knew Sendak better. There was a reason for this strange behavior.

In the meantime… “Ezor, switch to quintessence scan,” she ordered. “There is a druid ship somewhere in this area, too. We must find it as well.”

“And they can cloak themselves but not their hunger,” Ezor replied, regaining her good cheer. “Yeah. They’ll be hungry little monsters. Did anyone say whether the druid ship has a komar?”

“No data,” said Acxa. “Assume yes. Why? Are there dead planets nearby?”

“Depends on how you feel like defining ‘dead’,” grumbled Zethrid. “Uninhabitable and lifeless? Plenty. This part of the universe is just...pointless.”

“Most have at least microbial life,” Acxa chided. “A komar wouldn’t leave that behind.”

“_All komar are accounted for and confirmed destroyed, Acxa,”_ came Lotor’s voice over the comm. _“And the witch did not take sufficient materials to construct another. However, I believe you may have struck upon Sendak’s tactics. Or, more accurately, Haggar’s.”_

“Your majesty,” said Acxa with reverent affection. “Good to hear from you. Is there news?”

“_Indeed,_” said Lotor. _“Analysis of your findings suggests this last shipment of humans may well have been diverted. Their destination is not one of Sendak’s devising, but Haggar’s. Reports from Earth confirm that Haggar has been able to make druids of humans.”_

Acxa blinked. She did know that, but, “Are you saying these captives are going to be made into druids?”

“_Unlikely. Sendak had no taste for the witch’s magics, only the power it might gain him. He would have captured random humans. No, these will be fuel, I suspect. And food. I am sending you a specific equipment energy signature, general. If I am right, you will be able to use it to find where Haggar intends to store her ace in the hole.”_

Transmission now included a file with a specific energy signature. “Thank you, your majesty,” said Acxa, transmitting it at once to Zethrid and Ezor. “When we find this signature, what are your orders?”

There was silence for a bit. “_I suppose you will have to inform the paladins,”_ Lotor replied eventually, his tone thoughtful. “_The wiser course would be to destroy the planet and everything on it, at once, before Haggar could move her operations again. But they will want to save their people, I’m sure. So. When you find that signature, inform the paladins that they must move quickly. And do not leave that location. She must not be permitted to escape again.”_

“No, your majesty,” Acxa confirmed. “Vrepit sa.”


End file.
